Return To Normal
by jA-kL
Summary: Buffy wants another shot at the First. Not everyone thinks this is a good idea. Especially since the First knows she's coming.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

Return To Normal

Authors Note: This story begins immediately after the end of Far Beyond Normal. If you haven't read it, you may have trouble understanding what is going on at the start.

**Chapter One**

Dawn Summers none-too-subtly indicated she did not wish her three-slayer bodyguard contingent to enter her quarters by trying to slam the door in their faces. Unfortunately a pneumatic device attached to the door prevented it from crashing shut, causing one more indignity in an evening filled with them. From their expressions, they were just as glad not to enter, and were sneering in contempt at her tantrum. It had been a long night, and slayers were not renowned for their willingness to conceal their feelings, even from those they were tasked to protect. They were no longer just exasperated; they _despised_ her, and weren't afraid to let her know it. If she wasn't Buffy Summers little sister, they would be just as happy to stand aside and let whatever demon clan that wanted to kidnap her be their guest. Most of them would happily pay to watch them sacrifice the annoying bitch she had become over the past few weeks. Lil' Sis's recent behavior hadn't made her too popular with the employees of Slayers Inc.

But _Big_ Sis ran Slayers Inc with an iron fist, and nobody was crazy enough to piss her off by being so incompetent as to allow Dawn to be kidnapped. Again. Not after what happened the last time it happened. Not after Buffy had _personally_ expressed her displeasure to those who had failed in their duty. It had been such a painful learning experience no one was tempted to repeat it. No matter how much the girl deserved it. Or seemed to go out of her way to expose herself to demonic elements. Or just generally piss off the slayers on her security detail. So no matter how minor the actual loss would be should Lil' Sis get whacked, the downside was too painful to compensate for the momentary pleasure of watching some demon strangle the annoying little brat.

It hadn't always been that way. When they first came to public attention after the horrific Demonic Incursion in Los Angeles, when the Master Vampire Angelus had released the forces of Hell from his Evil law firm, it had actually been Dawn who garnered most of the attention. Younger and taller and possibly even prettier than her formidable sister, she was a 'normal' girl, enthusiastic and articulate, knowledgeable about the mystical events occurring but not so powerful that she was needed on the battleline like Buffy had been. For the first few years she had actually been the unofficial spokes-person for the slayers, her long dark hair, brilliant blue eyes, and prominent cheekbones providing a human face to supernatural events confounding and frightening the human populace who until then had been unaware of the mystical underworld. She was also being trained as a Watcher, the human half of the Slayer/Watcher tandem, and given her brains, public profile, family connections, and native ability, it was generally assumed that she would likely lead the entire organization sooner or later. Dawn was in demand, and when Slayers Inc set up camp in Cleveland, whenever anyone who was anyone threw a party, her name was always on the guest list.

There were stories about her, of course. Rumors about her whininess, pettiness, and propensity for kleptomania. Not many people were surprised; she was young, beautiful, and spoiled. Naturally she was going to be a bit of a bitch. At least, unlike her competitors in the Hot Young Babe media hype machine, she made an effort to ensure that she was wearing panties before she went out, and had yet to be sent away to Rehab due to underage alcoholism. Most of the people who actually knew Dawn noted that although she might once have acted less maturely than she would have preferred, given her situation at the time –what with the death of her mother and the looming threat of the demonic annihilation of Sunnydale-- her behavior had been understandable. More importantly, it was all in the past. She had _grown up_, finally come into her own both personally and professionally. It was unfair to hold past behavior against her when she had worked so hard to overcome her reputation.

Then suddenly, without warning or apparent cause, Dawn abandoned all the work she had done to prove herself. She became more and more sullen and angry, to the point where she was becoming an actual embarrassment to the organization. After this latest fiasco they would probably have no choice but to remove her from any further duties with the Council.

Which was a real shame, because escorting Buffy Summers' younger sister used to be considered one of the less suck-tacular jobs a slayer hanging around Slayer HQ might be assigned. The girl liked to shop –she was a _Summers_, after all- and she attended classes most of the day, which made it pretty easy to cover her. More importantly, she was so freakin' hot that guys were drawn to her like flies. This was important because most guys were scared-shitless of introducing themselves to a slayer, afraid of having their masculinity challenged by a girl who could easily rip their balls off if they got pissed of by some retarded male behavior. In other words, if they acted like a normal guy. Dawn was able to draw them in, and make them sufficiently comfortable that her slayer bodyguards had a chance to make a decent impression before the poor intimidated bastards ran for the hills. Unfortunately, for the past few weeks, Summers Junior had been regressing to her bratty teen persona, and it was getting real frickin' old real frickin' fast.

You would think that after being the target of monsters and depraved warlock's pretty much from the moment she hit puberty, Dawn Summers would have long since figured out that she needed a bodyguard. Doubly so since Slayers Inc went public and her sister became fabulously wealthy. For the past several years she had seemed to adjust to that unfortunate reality. Lately however, everything they did irritated her. And she wasn't hesitant about letting them know either. Whiney, obnoxious, bitchy; she had devolved into the teenaged harridan they had all heard about; the petulant, capricious spawn they had hoped she had finally outgrown. But the Bitch Was Back, with a vengeance, and she wasn't shy about letting everyone know it.

The slayers on her guard detail were already sick to death of it.

The door finally closed, her escort/bodyguard/jailers trapped on the other side. Dawn released an exhausted, regretful sigh, and reached over to flick the light switch. There were no overhead lights, merely dozens of small, low-wattage spotlights shining on pictures mounted from floor to ceiling and on just about every flat surface. This was the 'Celebrities' Room. All of the pictures in this room were of Dawn mingling with celebrities; movie stars, singers, famous athletes. Pride of place went to a famous photo of her with Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt, which had been on the cover of 'People' magazine. Dawn's eyes were drawn to the picture even as she walked through the room, into the 'Politicians' Room, which had even more pictures of Dawn being introduced to World Leaders and other Very Important People.

They, along with the 'Titans of Industry' room off to the other side of the hall, were pathetic attempts to prove her own existence by providing a record of all the Rich & Famous people she knew. Intellectually she knew that not one of those people remembered her half a second after she gave them her donation for whatever cause or campaign they wanted funded, except perhaps noting that she was Buffy Summers sister. But at least the pictures provided a tangible reality, validating her own existence. She knew George Clooney; therefore she _was_. Which was more than could be said of the girls in the 'Slayers' room, so young and proud and convinced of their own immortality, all now dead and already forgotten by almost everyone except Dawn… and perhaps their long-lost families.

The night had been a bad one. They had _all_ been bad lately, ever since that night two months earlier when the _real_ Buffy had come into her bedroom and announced that the First had killed her. At first she had doubted it had really happened, wondered if it had just been a horrible nightmare, tried to convince herself that what she had seen that night hadn't been real. But it hadn't taken long to confirm everything the real Buffy had told her in the few minutes they had together. To confirm that the Buffy she had been living with for the past few years was just a shell, occupied by the same malicious demi-goddess bitch who had actually murdered her sister.

She hadn't gone off half-cocked. For weeks afterwards she'd thought things over carefully. Considered everything she'd seen, everything that had happened since Sunnydale. The changes in Buffy. Xander and Giles leaving the Council. Willow's descent into magical addiction. The way Slayers Inc had been set up, and the way monies were being passed through its Byzantine accounting system. But mostly she thought about her sister. The hero who had died for her. The big sister who had given up her dreams of a normal life to take care of her. The twisted, sociopathic bitch she had become. But it wasn't until the Governor's party weeks afterwards that she had been _sure_, that she finally _knew_ with an absolute blinding certainty that the real Buffy had really come to her that night, and she was actually living with a monster.

Among the guests had been a young accountant and her new husband. She was someone the higher-ups were keeping an eye on; smart, ambitious, real good at her job but possessing the sort of charisma which drew people to her like flies. They were already feeling her out about going into politics, testing her loyalties, investigating her background. The husband was a potential problem; a boy-toy, pretty but useless, a high school BMOC who hadn't had the talent to go pro but who had the brains to leech onto the plain-but-smart girl rather than the stereotypical cheerleader bimbo. If the wife went into politics, with her background she might look a bit too deeply into some of the deals Slayers Inc had made with the local government. Dawn had watched carefully as her 'sister' walked up to the happy couple, placed her hand just so on his arm, and said something to the frumpy wife. Nothing derogatory; other people in the vicinity overheard her, but nobody reacted.

Except the wife. A strange expression came over her face. A quick glance down to where Buffy's hand had already moved on from lightly stroking her husband's arm. The sort of casual gesture which happened a hundred times at parties, between a hundred people. But Dawn had seen it before. Had been watching for it. 'Buffy' would go up to someone who either was or might become a potential problem and say something trivial, something nobody else would even recall later. But it was words or a gesture which would mean something to her target, would trigger a memory, would soon somehow achieve meaning ludicrously out of proportion to the insignificant gesture which had triggered the reaction. A childhood memory, a humiliating experience, a suppressed tragedy. No one would ever put the blame on 'Buffy' for 'inadvertently' triggering a succession of events which would lead to alcoholism, or divorce, or suicide. But Dawn wasn't the only one who had started to notice that Bad Things happened to those who crossed Buffy Summers.

Without even pausing to think about it, Dawn had shrieked at her 'sister,' the look in the poor woman's eyes freezing her to her very marrow. The look in 'Buffy's' eyes frightened her even more; a coldness, a depthless contempt swiftly replaced by a sad look of betrayal, the pain of dealing with an immature brat of a sister. But in that one instant Dawn knew that everything the real Buffy had told her was true. Knew that this monster pretending to be her sister was doing these things deliberately, was destroying people and lives with a calculating maliciousness more frightening than any overt destructiveness could be. And knew there was nothing she could do to stop it. There was no proof that Buffy had died in the cavern; nor was there any way she could derail the plans of an entity which could read the minds of everyone who might consider opposing her. Only Dawn, and the monsters whose minds were too foreign to be read by even an entity as powerful as the First, were immune. It was no coincidence that hundreds of slayers were presently hunting down and slaughtering those very monsters.

She was tempted to walk out, just leave and never return, until common sense prevented her from doing something so foolish. It was pathetic that her first thought was for her pictures. How would she know she was really 'real' if she didn't have the pictures to prove it? More importantly, there were practical considerations. There was nowhere she could go they couldn't find her. Willow's mystical beacon was backed up by technological equivalents. Plus there was the non-trivial matter that there really _were_ monsters out there who would kill her on sight just because she was Buffy Summers' sister. Before she did anything stupid, she needed a plan. More than that, while she was still 'inside' Slayers Inc, she needed to set up a few devices of her own. Once she left, she would need a way to find out what they were doing. Because whatever it was, Dawn intended to stop it. If the First wanted a war, Dawn intended to give it one.

Moving into the 'Slayers' room to look around at the pictures of the now-dead girls, Dawn wondered how many of them had died the way they were supposed to –battling evil—and how many had been deliberately damaged psychologically by the First because they weren't suitable to its plans. Most of those girls were sixteen years old, many even younger, just the right age where their delicate psyche's could be crushed by a word from someone they worshipped like they did The Great Buffy Summers. That, even more than what she had done to the innocent accountant, made Dawn swear that she would do whatever it took to oppose the creature fouling her sister's body.

Over the next few months, Dawn enabled her plans carefully and furtively. If Buffy's suspicions were correct, the First could not read her mind like it could most peoples, but even the most cursory observation showed that it was smarter than hell, and given a few random clues would pick up trends most people would never notice. The sheer breadth of its intelligence should have warned her that the girl wasn't Buffy. Her sister had been clever enough, especially in those matters which interested her, but she had never come close to displaying the degree of knowledge 'she' now possessed. She knew the names and phone numbers of everyone who mattered. She knew their birthdays and their clothing sizes. She knew who was screwing whom, who owed what to whom, who was supplying what to whom, who secretly hated whom. She knew where the bodies were buried, who had buried them, and where the money went afterwards. Everything the Scoobies had done for her, she now handled herself; and did a better job at it than they ever had. It was beyond embarrassing that Dawn had ever thought this person could actually be Buffy.

Of equal interest was what The Entity Pretending To Be Buffy was doing to Willow. The Witch was being manipulated. Slowly, systematically, deliberately encouraged to indulge in her most secret desires, her most hidden fantasies and fetishes. Nothing she asked for was refused. Anything she refused was pushed again and again, her restraint ridiculed, her innate decency mocked, until she finally capitulated. When she finally gave in, she was lavishly rewarded. She wasn't quite a prisoner in the Compound, but on those few occasions when she had to leave, she was provided with a huge escort to ensure that no one interacted with her. Over time, she was being de-sensitized to the rules of civilized behavior, the 'outside world' an irrelevant abstraction and therefore safely ignored. Within the Compound she could do _anything_ she wanted, without restraint, without guilt, without consequences.

Had she so desired, Dawn would have been more than welcome to join in. In many ways it would have been the perfect life; all her desires fulfilled, every whim indulged. It also would have been a sick, twisted life of depravity and moral degeneracy. Given Willow's history of jealousy, arrogant superiority, and issues with power, for her it was an especially tempting trap. It was _not,_ however, one Dawn found equally seductive. She had her own issues, as a quick glance around her bedroom walls would quickly confirm. But her unique nature meant that certain thing were far more important to her than the sensual depravities which might tempt someone more fully human. Dawn's most treasured possession was a small picture on the end table beside her bed, one of the few pictures of her family they had managed to save before Sunnydale dropped into a massive crater. It was also the only picture of Buffy in the room… because it was also the only picture she had of the _real_ Buffy.

Until that night, when her sister appeared to tell her she hadn't survived the destruction of Sunnydale, most of the pictures in her bedroom had been of the two of them as Slayers Inc grew in power and influence. During those years Dawn had been embarrassingly dependent on her sister to reassure her that she was 'real,' that she had family and with it a physical connection to this world. Once she realized that her 'sister' was actually the First, Dawn had been forced to look for other sources of validation, leading to the ludicrous 'Wall of Fame' covering her walls from floor to ceiling. It was pathetic that she was afraid to make the final break from the protective bubble of the mansion not because she would be starting a war with a being of god-like power, but because she couldn't face the possibility of facing each day without looking at her pictures, reassuring herself that she was real because other people acknowledged her existence in those images.

Disgusted with her own weakness, Dawn reminded herself that Buffy was still alive, somewhere. Which also meant that her sister had died, again, and was probably as screwed up as she had been the last time she went through the resurrection process. Granted that she hadn't sounded too bad during the few minutes Whistler had arranged for them to have together, but that was undoubtedly because Buffy hadn't wanted to frighten her. Dawn didn't have the slightest doubt that Buffy had gone to Heaven this time as well –if anyone deserved the peace of a Heavenly reward, it was her sister—but could only imagine how much it must have hurt her to have to be brought back to face yet another apocalyptic battle. She was ashamed of herself, whimpering over the loss of some meaningless photographs, when Buffy had lost paradise itself. But she was also reassured that Buffy had promised she would be back, because even a screwed-up Buffy knew more about fighting vengeful gods than anyone else did. Dawn was uncomfortably aware that translating thousand year old documents was one thing; leading a war against the Baddest of Big-Bads was _waaaay_ out of her league.

Looking at the picture of the three of them, a proud mother and her two teenage daughters, Dawn remembered the day it had been taken. Riley had taken the picture at a picnic when he and Buffy were still dating. There were other pictures of the family, recovered from where her father had stored them in LA, but they weren't 'real.' Only fake baby and school pictures which had been created by the monks during the spell which had created Dawn herself. So far as she knew, this photo was the only surviving _real_ picture of her with her family. All the other pictures in her room combined weren't worth a fraction as much as this one, no matter that it was small, and old, and off-center, and she looked like a complete dork. Looking at the picture suddenly made her realize that the rest of the prized images on her walls were sad, and pathetic, and _sucked_, because they were no more real than the ghost she sometimes feared she might become if no one was around to reassure her that she truly existed. She didn't really know any of the people in those pictures, not really. They weren't _family_. They weren't _Buffy_. And looking for them to confirm her existence sucked the suckitude of a sucking suckfest.

Her _mother_ had thought she was real. Her _sister_ thought she was real. Her sister had _died_ for her, and come back for her after dying yet again. Next to _that_, it didn't matter a damn what anyone else thought. She was real because _Buffy_ thought she was real. And that was enough.

With that thought, Dawn finally found the courage she needed to make the decision she had put off far too long. It was time to go. Her plans had been made weeks earlier, contingencies considered, options weighed. It would take a few days to bring it to fruition, but Dawn was finally ready to pull the trigger. She would inform the others. Operation 'Get the Fuck Out of Dodge' was a Go.

Cleveland had changed since Slayers Inc. set up shop in the city three years earlier. The sudden influx of well paid, very young, very fashion conscious women had brought in businesses catering to their needs. There was a local 'hellmouth' which drew in particularly stupid supernatural entities which the slayers hunted for training purposes, but it had only a fraction of the power of the finally-closed Sunnydale monster. So with no 'big bads' and lots of super-powered shoppers wandering the boutiques, Cleveland had become one of the safest cities on Earth. The local human population was thrilled with the change, and went out of their way to welcome Slayers Inc employees. Especially its President and CEO, Buffy Summers. Even with the rumors of their problems, nobody was going to risk earning Buffy's wrath by not giving her little sister the very best service possible. No matter how strange some of requests might be.

Mademoiselle Dominique prepared the station and decorations precisely as specified, and awaited her famous customer for her scheduled makeover.

The three slayers on her security detail were almost as confused by the change in their charge as they were annoyed by it. They'd talked it over among themselves, trying to figure out where it all went wrong. The relationship between Buffy and Willow hadn't really come as a surprise to anyone. They'd been friends for year, they'd both become more…um… _eclectic_.. in their choice in bed partners as time passed, and finally they'd just joined forces to indulge their increasingly warped sensual peccadilloes. Nobody got hurt, nobody was being forced to do anything they didn't want to do, and, quite frankly, it took two of the weirder chix out of circulation, to the secret relief of most of the other slayers who might have otherwise been too afraid to say 'no' had one or the other asked them to bed.

Nobody could figure out why Dawn had such a bug up her ass about the relationship, or why it had taken so long before she decided to take offence. Buffy and Willow had been pretty open about sharing a bed long before Dawn took very public umbrage at an official dinner hosted by the Council, with the Mayor and assorted dignitaries present to witness the debacle. Somebody said something, and Dawn went ballistic, and _damn_, but that girl could _scream_! Buffy probably could have gotten the story killed –the media were _very_ leery about displeasing her—but she was openly furious with her younger sibling and went on to milk the story about how she had been forced to quit university to take care of her after their mother died, and this was how she was repaid for all her sacrifices, and suddenly the matter was front-paged on all the gossip magazines. Not taking the hint about the futility of challenging her sister, Dawn had repeated the performance at the next social event she was forced to attend, until she had become _persona non grata_ and deliberately uninvited from all succeeding events.

Most of the slayers had been real careful to stay out of it, considering it to be a 'family matter.' Nobody wanted to be seen to be picking sides in the conflict. Most of them had faced Buffy during Unarmed Combat training, and were terrified of her speed and martial skills. But that didn't mean any of them wanted her sister mad at them either. Dawn Summers had been taught languages by Rupert Giles and computers by Willow Rosenberg. You just didn't fuck with someone like that! If Buffy punished you, it might hurt for awhile; but Dawn could seriously mess with your _life_. You'd be assigned to babysit the most screwed-up actors, or guard the most disgusting, grab-assy Sheik in Araby. Every scut assignment that came up, your name would be 'randomly' selected for it. People learned real fast not to fuck with Lil' Sis. Besides, until this confrontation blew up in their faces, most of them had _liked_ Dawn more than they did Buffy.

Of all the Scoobies, Dawn had always been the most social, the one most entertained and amused by parties and social affairs. The others were too old and jaded to be impressed by the 'movers and shakers' of society, whom they knew didn't have even a fraction of the impact on events any Scoobie had possessed since long before they could even vote. Dawn was still young enough and naïve enough to enjoy schmoozing with the elite, checking out the expensive clothes and back-stabbing politics which was the real purpose of most of the events they attended. But somehow, between one day and the next she just seemed to lose interest in things which had once seemed to be a vitally important part of her life. Without any warning or reason, she abruptly stopped caring about gaining the approbation of a sister she had, until then, been desperately trying to impress. If it was simply a new tactic designed to gain Buffy's attention it failed; Buffy Summers was too busy to baby-sit a sister old enough to take care of herself. But truth be told, Dawn didn't seem to give a damn any more what Buffy thought.

There was a time when Dawn Summers had a busload of friends, social leeches for the most part, snarky bitches whose back-stabbing antics provided the bodyguards with hours of entertainment. Most had dropped Dawn like a hot potato when her histrionics offended the social elite. Surprisingly, a few stuck by her as she quickly rose to social pariah status, and probably only her guards overheard Dawn warning them off. Whatever her problem was, she did not intend to back down on it, and didn't want to take anyone else down with her. Especially the ones who were good enough friends that they would have willingly done so.

It didn't make sense.

Her guards were good. Buffy had insisted on it. As angry as she might be with her sister, the girl was still way up there on the target list of every demon clan and most human criminal organizations. Unlike most personal bodyguards who were there mostly for show, those on the Dawn Patrol knew they might be called into action at any given minute, every time they left the protection of the Compound. Eight kidnapping attempts in twelve months should have made it clear that Dawn _needed_ their protection. Privately, they were growing increasingly nervous with her motives, recognizing that Dawn was too smart to be acting so stupidly without a damned good reason. Warning away her few friends worthy of the name convinced them that something else was going on, something they weren't seeing, and that made them cautious. Dawn could be a bitch, but she was a _smart_ bitch, and none of them wanted to find out the hard way exactly how smart she really was.

So her guards were very careful to keep a close eye on her when she went out after finishing her classes. The beauty parlor was a regular stop. Like most seriously hot girls, Dawn spent a lot of time and money ensuring that she _stayed_ looking seriously hot. Mlle Dominique ran probably the finest –and certainly the most expensive—salon in the city. She had special rates for slayers, knowing they would bring in more customers. Even in Cleveland it wasn't everyday one could see a slayer close-up, and meeting one over a manicure was far less likely to end in one being eaten by a demon than most other meeting scenarios. So the cities' female elite felt compelled to visit Mlle Dominique's if they wanted to interact with a slayer, demonstrating their courage by mingling with such potential ruffians without even the bars of a zoo cage to keep them apart.

Many of those societal doyenne had their own security, which sometimes made for interesting times sorting out the pecking order. For the Dawn Patrol, it was pretty simple: _their_ client came _first_. Always. The most powerful of the elite had slayer bodyguards who deferred to Buffy's expressed order that Dawn be protected at all costs. Anyone using a merely 'human' bodyguard obviously had lower status than those who could afford a slayer. Already in the salon, getting her hair done, was Bettina Smith-Russell –the elder spawn of one of the local dynasties—and her slayer bodyguard, who was amusing herself intimidating the ex-SEAL bodyguard of the pampered mistress of a famous NBA star. There were five other clients at various stations being worked on by over a dozen beauticians, but few would realize that one of those 'guests' was also a slayer.

Grace certainly didn't _look_ like a slayer. Most slayers were by nature athletic, and worked out constantly to burn off excess energy. Many used sex for a similar purpose. Their athleticism made them toned, and their horniness made them _hot_. At least, that was true in most cases. Grace was an obvious exception. It would take several inches of makeup to make her plain, puffy face 'beautiful.' As well as tinted contact lenses. Capped teeth. Cheekbone implants. False eyelashes. Constant work by an industrial-strength weed-wacker to remove her unibrow and 'stache. Some kind of voice synthesizer to do something about her naturally high-pitched, whiney tone. A chin implant. Etcetera. _Lots_ of etcetera. And that didn't even get to her body, with its naturally squat, dumpy, frumpy form. In terms of babe-aliciousness, Grace pretty much fell _last_ on the slayer pecking order.

A particularity in her body chemistry had delayed the onset of puberty until Grace was sixteen years old. Along with menstruation, she had also been Called. At first, she had been hopeful that her life would finally change for the better. In many ways it only got worse once she was surrounded by far more attractive slayers when she moved to Cleveland. Most of the other slayers were teenagers themselves, many had been Called years earlier than her, and almost all of them were just as catty and bitchy and cliquish as girls had been back home. Even when she quickly demonstrated far more aptitude and intelligence than almost any other slayer Grace had found it difficult to fit in. Her obvious superiority over far more experienced slayers in terms of brains and skills served only as an excuse for more taunting and back-stabbing and isolation. Grace tended to work alone, undercover, in situations where a more attractive girl would be recognized as a slayer. _Nobody_ would ever assume Grace was one.

Her 'undercover' status meant that even those slayers who recognized her didn't acknowledge her. The leader of the Dawn Patrol was high enough in the slayer hierarchy to be aware that Grace had been assigned to keep an eye on a powerful witch by the name of Amy Madison, and a quick perusal of the other customers recognized the witch getting her nails and hair done at a station well away from where Dawn would be worked on. Willow had put enough protection spells on Dawn that even a witch of Amy's power would be hard pressed to overcome them, and slayers were more resistant to manipulative magic than the average person. If Amy wanted to make a play, she stood very little chance of overcoming all four slayers in the room. But the Dawn Patrol wasn't paid to take chances, so one of them surreptitiously sent a warning back to Slayers Inc HQ, where some of the junior-grade witches on staff were brought in to keep an eye on the situation.

Fortunately Dawn either didn't see Amy or simply ignored her, slumping into the comfortable chair at her regular station, sulking with the air of aggrieved martyrdom only the truly rich and spoiled could convey. Unfortunately for her, Buffy had raised pouting to the level of _art_, and she didn't quite rise to her sister's standard. When Dawn was really bitchy she _whined_, with a nasally, fingernails-scratching-on-a-chalkboard sub-harmonic intonation which had been know to instigate madness up to and including suicide among the unprepared. The CIA was investigating the possibility of using that whine to interrogate prisoners of war. But her pout? Not up to snuff.

Everyone in the room was discretely photographed, their images uploaded to HQ and their identities verified. Room exits were checked, the third member of the Dawn Patrol slowly remaining outside, driving around the block, keeping her eye out for external threats. It was all standard operating procedure, the team had it down to a science, and it all came up empty. HQ even updated them that Amy Madison had actually booked her appointment _before_ Dawn had demanded they accommodate her sudden need to have her hair done, so it was unlikely to be another kidnap attempt. The team settled in to let the stylists deal with Dawn's bitchiness, tag-teaming the male bodyguard in one of their favorite pastimes, playing 'annoy-the-SEAL.' Slayers were the new elite, and would go well out of their way to making sure everyone knew it.

Mlle Dominique had no idea why she had been asked to set up the station in such a precise manner, but she did know that unless she wanted to go back to being just plain 'Miss Denise Johnson' she had little choice but to accommodate her clients most bizarre whims. Fortunately the person Dawn Summers had sent to implement her directives had come after business hours. The thought of such a _strange_ little man interacting with her clients wasn't a pleasant one. Not that there had been anything particularly offensive about the young man. He had just been… well, _odd_ might be the most charitable description. Fully accredited, of course. Mlle Dominique had seen to it personally that his credentials were verified and full security protocols followed. Not that she'd actually had to see to it herself. Andrew Wells had been such a… _unique_ little man that everyone on her staff had double checked his orders every step of the way. Special mirrors had been set up. A very beautiful silk rug was placed in front of Miss Summers' chair. A favored painting hung on a nearby wall. Special flowers, and scented incense discretely burning in a tiny briar. None of it was outrageous. Just… _unusual_. But Mlle Dominique had, of course, heard about the antics of her now-infamous client. She was more than willing to do anything to keep her from going postal in her salon and freaking out the other rich customers.

While the stylist did what she could with her ratty hair, Grace surreptitiously looked around the fancy salon. Even if her cover hadn't prevented her from asking for the slayer discount, she'd never have gone to a place so fancy. There was no point. Even fractional changes in humidity had catastrophic effects on her hair, and she had long since given up any attempt at taming it. But, she was on an expense account, this would undoubtedly be her last chance ever to be pampered in such opulent decadence, and she was sort of enjoying the experience. Three 'technicians' were working on her –hair, face, and nails—and their carefully-maintained non-expressions told her all she needed to know about what they thought of their chances of changing her into a raving beauty. Grace already knew the answer, but anyone who could afford the rates Mademoiselle Dominique charged was likely to express their disappointment more enthusiastically than Grace normally would. She'd looked the way she looked for a long time. She was dealing with it.

Sometimes it was harder to do so than others. Her cover required her to try to get friendly with Amy, who was pretty enough that her tart, barbed comments regarding Grace's lack of equivalent attractiveness had burned. The Junior Summers didn't even have to make a sarcastic crack for Grace to want to lash out in rage. Dawn was so goddamned beautiful that sometimes Grace wanted to carve her perfect face off with a dull knife, just so she didn't have to compare it to her own every time she saw her. But she didn't, because Grace had also learned self control. She'd had to if she wanted to survive.

There were eight stations in the salon, each with its own chair, sink, equipment area and room for up to four attendants. There was a spa off to Grace's right through a short corridors lined with gilded columns and tall Grecian statues. There were plants everywhere, but the main working area was oval shaped, open so that, if they wished to do so, the clients could speak to each other. That area dominated by a huge round sunroof covered in delicately frosted glass, and surrounded by hanging plants. It wasn't really necessary to augment the natural light, but carefully-placed mini-spotlights were available to the stylists should they require them. In addition, omnipresent mirrors were also surrounded by mini-lights. At right angles to the corridor leading to the spa was another leading to the reception area, and between them, but far more discretely, was a door leading to what Grace had already discovered to be a spectacularly sybaritic bathroom.

Even if she hadn't been a slayer, Grace's stubby, fat fingers would have looked ridiculous with long nails, so it didn't take long for the 'nail person' to finish the minimal work Grace had requested. Those nails were far stronger than those of a normal girl, and the person working on them had been forced to use some serious strength to get the scissors to cut them. Since they dealt with slayers quite often in this salon, the girl might have her own suspicions as to Grace's identity. But if she did, she was professional enough to keep them to herself. Wet hair wrapped in a towel, and wearing a decadently-thick housecoat, Grace was helped up so that she could proceed to the spa.

Just a few feet from the corridor entrance she paused to look at the painting on the wall. It was… _bizarre_. Almost abstract, but with an underlying theme of stormy violence. Clouds and torrential rain might obscure a distant valley, if you squeezed your eyes almost shut and looked at it just so. But mostly there was just the impression of the imminent onset of violence, not the calm before the storm, but the just-barely-leashed power already being tossed around just before things _really_ hit the fan. She didn't recognize the work, although Grace was quite a fan of the artist. Most slayers were. Almost all of her paintings conveyed the impression of someone standing on the precipice of incipient, overwhelming violence.

Casually, she reached out to lightly brush the edge of the frame…

…and the world exploded.

It was as if the painting had come to life. Thick black clouds boiled out of it. Lightning bolts struck out, smashing statues, scorching everything they touched, bouncing off the mirrors on the walls. A howling wind blew the plants around with hurricane strength. Light from the skylight quickly winked out as the clouds grew thick enough to block the sun, and the screams from the women in the salon were barely heard over the booming of thunder. Like everyone else standing up, Grace had been knocked on her ass by the unexpected storm. Somehow, despite the torrential downpour obscuring the view of anything more than a few inches in front of her face, she could see the leader of the Dawn Patrol, and both of them almost instinctively turned to look at Amy, who stood, ignoring the maelstrom around her, arms stretched out, lips moving as she spoke some kind of spell neither of them could hear over the thundering noise of the impossible storm.

Nobody trusted witches, and for good reason. Sooner or later almost all of them went bad. Even the few that didn't simply had too much power to be trusted not to abuse it. Unless they were part of a self-regulating coven, slayers treated witches as potential threats by default. One like Amy, who had always refused to join a coven as it might limit her activities, and who was one of the more powerful witches on their threat board, would automatically be suspected as the source of any problem which suddenly popped up. Without even having to discuss it every slayer in the room fought their way through the sudden hurricane towards the psychotic witch.

Between the howling wind, monsoon rain, and shifting shadows from the lightning, movement was almost impossible. Foolishly, Grace tried to stand, and was quickly knocked off her feet again, rolled by the force of the wind to where Dawn was down on the floor, covering herself with her silk rug in an effort to protect herself from the elements. With Grace covering their principle, and the wind favoring their own movements, both slayers on the Dawn patrol quickly made their way towards Amy, who was standing almost calmly in the surrounding violence, frowning. When the first slayer tried to leap on her she simply waved one hand disdainfully, and the wind suddenly swept her aside, crashing her into one wall, the mirror above that station shattering with the impact. Instantly regaining her feet, she used the distraction provided by her counterparts launching their own attack to try to make her way back to the witch, who was screaming and waving her hands violently, balls of light seeming to leap from her fingertips, only their speed preventing her energy balls from frying the three slayers.

While they fought, Grace grabbed Dawn, and used her greater strength to support the taller girl as they made their way towards the corridor leading to the spa, away from the battling trio and the overpowering mystical storm. To their surprise the ex-SEAL bodyguard had already reached a similar decision, and was guiding not only his principle, but several of the other girls --those not paralyzed with fear, or shrieking like banshees as they clutched their chairs with death-grips and demanded that someone save them-- away from the danger zone. Naturally he was being extra-protective towards the very beautiful woman he was being paid to protect, but he had two of the stylists sheltered by his powerful body as well, and they were all making their way to safety. Grace paused for a moment to add her own muscle to the human chain, and they slowly made their way to the corridor, nobody able to hear anything over the noise of the thunder, the wind, and the shrieks of the shrieking harridans being left behind, indignant that nobody was coming to rescue them, even though they wouldn't make the effort to save themselves.

Once in the relative shelter of the corridor, Grace abandoned the others, grabbed Dawn by the arm and practically dragged her to the back of the spa, where she quickly rushed towards the back exit. The others followed much more slowly, but Grace didn't pay them any attention. They were no longer her problem. The door was locked, but that didn't even slow down a slayer. Smashing it open, she dragged Dawn through, to where the final member of the Dawn Patrol was just then screeching to a halt in their armored SUV, the passenger door already open. Pushing Dawn into the vehicle, Grace leapt in after her, the big truck already moving even before her foot left the ground. Using her incredible strength, Grace virtually picked up and tossed Dawn into the back seat, ignoring the driver, who was almost panicking as she frantically demanded an explanation as to what the hell had just happened.

He already knew what had happened up to that point, but what happened next came as quite a surprise to the ex-SEAL who was only then coming out of the spa with the three women he had been able to save. Without the slightest hint or warning, Grace suddenly struck the other slayer in the jaw, knocking her unconscious, and swung the wheel to crash the vehicle into the wall of a nearby building. They had just been getting under way so weren't moving very fast at that point, so nobody was harmed by the crash, and the ex-SEAL could see the butt-ugly slayer and Dawn Summers quickly exit the vehicle, just as another car pulled up in front of them. A geeky-looking guy was driving, but the slayer glared at him until he sulkily moved over and let her take the wheel. Given that the Summers girl walked by herself to the rear door of the second vehicle and got in without being coerced, he was able to confirm his initial impression that this wasn't an abduction. Little Sister was making her move.

Unlike the slayers inside the salon, he'd noticed that the witch had been just as surprised by the appearance of the magical storm as they had been. Miss Summers, he had noted, had been fully prepared for the sudden deluge. The witch hadn't even been paying much attention to the slayers until _they_ attacked _her_. It didn't take the ex-SEAL long to piece together what had just happened, and come to a decision of his own. Looking around, he saw a metal pipe that was exactly the right size and shape to jam between the doorknob and the concrete lip of the stairs. Given that there was no other piece of pipe anywhere in sight, it was pretty obvious it had been prepositioned. Equally obviously, they hadn't used it, because they knew he was close behind them, accompanied by innocent civilians. That pretty much told him who the 'good guys' were in this, so he casually whistled as he put the pipe in place to jam the door as they had intended. It wouldn't stop the slayers for very long, but it would slow them down, and in an escape attempt such as this he was well aware that the first few minutes were the most critical.

Most of the elite military units had pretty much had it up to here with being taunted by slayers. Insolent, egotistical little twits who hadn't had to work for their abilities, but who went out of their way to denigrate those who had. Whining about being oppressed by men, but doing the exact same thing in reverse once they gained the upper hand. Just because the shoe was on the other foot didn't make it any less ugly. Anything he could do to mess with the slayers, that was exactly what he would do.

"We have escaped from the Death Star, my Princess. But I must remind you to be careful, as the Forces Of Evil will be able to find you without the shielding from the enchanted tapestry."

Andrew, not surprisingly, was as excited as he was frightened. He had never been the most courageous guy in the world, and here he was, aiding and abetting in an escape from Slayer Central. Not to mention, he was now trapped in a car being driven by a crazy person. They were traveling at least twice as fast as he would have considered safe, but he knew better than to say so. He'd met with Grace a number of times as they worked out the details of the escape, and had a very good idea as to how she would react should he suggest that she slow down. He didn't think the chubby slayer was entirely stable, mentally speaking, but also knew for a fact that she was immensely strong, even by slayer standards. He couldn't help but whimper aloud as she swung in and out of traffic with bare inches to spare from cars on either side.

Knowing she was scaring him even more by taking her eyes off the road, Grace turned to their crazy wizard and smirked. She didn't really mind Andrew. She had begun to see him as kind of like her retarded little brother. If she'd had a brother, retarded or otherwise. One of the reasons she had agreed to help Dawn escape, even knowing what it would mean for her own future longevity, was the chance to get Andrew out of the vipers den before they skinned him alive. Some of the things he did irritated people. Well, _most_ of the things he did irritated people. Truth to tell, Andrew in general irritated people. But some of the slayers back at the compound were even crazier than he was, and not in a 'retarded little brother' kind of way. Sooner or later one of them would unthinkingly strike out in anger, and Andrew was too frail to withstand much in the way of slayer punches.

Getting Andrew out wasn't the only reason Grace agreed to help. She was getting close to 'striking out in anger' herself, and she had a pretty good idea what would happen if she did. With her standing at the bottom of the social pecking order, anyone she hit was likely to have a lot more allies than she did. No matter how good she was, there was simply no way she was going to be able to overcome the difference in numbers. In addition, good as she was, she didn't think she was good enough to take Kennedy if Buffy's pet rottweiler decided to make her one of her famous 'object lessons' on the foolishness of fighting within the Compound. Plus, there had also been the ego-boost of planning and executing such a complicated escape out from under the very noses of Slayers Inc's best people.

Grace had been stunned when Dawn Summers of all people approached her with her plan. Not just that Little Sister would suggest it, but how goddamn smart she was in planning it. Grace knew that she herself was easily one of the smartest slayers in the Compound, but she would never have come up with such a plan, or all the maneuvering needed to keep the others from discovering what she was up to. Even knowing the price she'd pay if they were caught, Grace had agreed to help her from the very first meeting. As they made their way to the highway and out of the city, Grace saw no reason to regret making that decision.

Dawn should have looked ridiculous wearing a silk rug like a shawl, but when she looked at the girl in the rear-view mirror Grace unconsciously scowled in jealous irritation. Even looking as ridiculous as it was possible for a person to look, Dawn still somehow managed to look like the Princess Andrew called her. She had a natural poise to go with her physical beauty, neither of which Grace could never match. She should be jealous –hell, who was she kidding? She _was_ jealous!—but Grace also admired her courage and intelligence. It certainly didn't hurt that Dawn was one of the few people to acknowledge Grace's own abilities, even if she was exploiting them for her own purposes. Glancing over towards Andrew, Grace spoke the first words since they left the spa. "Hey, Merlin. You sure that rug will keep Willow from tracking her?"

"Yes, Lady Grace, it should. As you know I was involved with the mystical search team when Princess Dawn was abducted the last time by those horrible Wertesh monsters, and gained considerable familiarity with the family of spells The Red Witch established to track her via the Nether Realms. The wards cast into the woven patterns on the rug should suppress those signatures. Alas, my own powers over The Force are too weak to actually neutralize such sophisticated spells, but given time, those magic-users in the Coven we are heading towards should be able to break even spells such at these."

Grunting non-committally, Grace couldn't help but point out "That's a lot of 'should's.'"

Nodding his head with unnecessary vigor, Andrew agreed. "One cannot be too sure when dealing with opponents such as The Red Witch or The Evil First Buffy." Grace had to suppress a smile when she saw Dawn rolling her eyes in the rear-view mirror, but Andrew wasn't done. "None the less, it must be noted that we remain free, despite passing the time mark for Stage Three Alert under the SOP guidelines for Princess Dawn being kidnapped. The Red Witch Herself will be involved now, yet I have not detected any trace of her astral form. I believe that the three Morglach demons I released into the sewers wearing pendants emulating Princess Dawn's mystical signature just before meeting up with you at the salon are performing their decoy function the way the Princess had hoped. This should buy us another half hour or more. That should be all the time we require. The wards protecting the Coven grounds should be adequate to conceal us once we reach their safety."

This time it was Dawn's turn to grunt non-committally. That was _still_ a lot of 'should's.' Going to the Coven for help was the most dangerous, but also the most critical, part of her escape plan. If she wanted to get rid of Willow's markers she had no choice. Nobody else had the power to do so. But she wasn't sure if such powerful witches could be overcome by the spell which made everyone else forget she was the Key. She had tested it to determine that both Grace and Andrew had quickly forgotten once she'd told them, but neither of them were as powerful as some of the witches in the local Coven. It didn't really matter either way, however. If she didn't get rid of Willow's mystical bugs, the game would be over before it even began, so she had no choice but to take a chance on them being trustworthy. A word that didn't come easy to her when dealing with witches.

Without a word being spoken, Dawn knew that Grace was thinking more or less the same thing. Meeting her eyes in the mirror, she addressed her partner-in-crime, and hoped she would one day be able to show her friend that her somewhat unprepossessing exterior concealed not just a heart of gold, but that of a _lion_. "You can join us, you know. Andrew and I have no choice, but you can _choose_ to stay with us if you want."

Shaking her head negatively even before Dawn finished, Grace rejected the offer. "There's nothing for me there. We'll stick with the plan. Too many slayers have dropped out of sight, and those that did will have no choice but to join together for survival. The contacts you've given me will give me a starting point. I'll find these 'Ronin' of yours. Even if they don't trust me, they have to know what we're up against.

"The slayers _have_ to know that the First is back."

There wasn't much Dawn could say to argue with that sentiment. So she fell silent, and let Grace concentrate on getting her to the relative safety of the witches coven.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

Return To Normal

**Chapter Two**

There is a certain atmosphere to hospitals, an unmistakable ambiance those familiar with the sensation would be able to note even through the dizzying confusion of regaining consciousness. The smell of disinfectant, the harsh prickly texture of starched sheets, the muted sound of electronic machines pinging and beeping monotonously, all were recognizable even before eyes were opened, or brain became fully functional. Buffy Summers had seen more than her fair share of hospitals, and knew them far better than she would have preferred. Even if she didn't associate them with pain and death, she would have resented the feeling of helplessness, of not being in control, that was the inevitable result of any of her myriad experiences at being hospitalized. Even before she was fully awake, her first thought was typical; '_I need to get away from this place._'

It wasn't a psychic warning or Slayer dream prodding her to escape imminent danger; it was deeper, a primal awareness, a subconscious distrust of hospitals and doctors which generally stood her in good stead in terms of recovering and getting the hell away from a hospital bed as soon as possible. But returning consciousness brought a quick and brutal end to any thoughts of escape on this occasion. She was in pain. A _lot_ of pain. Enough pain that her desire for escape was over-ruled by an even deeper concern; '_Oh, crap; I'm hurt _real_ bad._'

Only then did she remember the reason she was in the hospital: the fight at the airport, the horrific damage the Rock Beast had done to her before she finally put it down for good. Which explained the bandages wrapping her face, covering one of her eyes, the agonizing pain coming from her stomach, which had not only been cut open but the muscles shredded when she threw the hammer. All of it would heal, eventually; but in the meantime she felt the same amount of pain anyone else would. Being a Slayer meant she healed quickly. It didn't mean she didn't experience the pain of receiving the wounds in the first place, or recovering from them afterwards. And right about then she was feeling pretty much the same way anyone else would in similar circumstances. It hurt… a _lot_.

It didn't help that there were tubes stuffed into every orifice, even more jammed into various limbs directly when a convenient orifice wasn't available; temperature and electrical sensors taped randomly all over her body, thick gauze bandages slapped down apparently at random. Or the fact that they had apparently used an industrial stapler to reseal her torso after the Beast had pretty much disemboweled her. She was hot and cold and sore and uncomfortable and groggy and frightened and she really, really wished she was anywhere else but where she was…

Even before the special air-tight door to the special critical-care trauma room was opened, Buffy heard the increasing pace of the beeps and bleeps of the monitoring equipment, so wasn't surprised when someone came to check on her. Naturally they would know when she awoke. Given the way they had her hooked up, they would know everything there was to know about her mental and physical state. The nurse who arrived was dressed up like the Mummy. Even her eyes were concealed behind goggles, every inch of skin covered in green surgical gear or rubber. Buffy wanted to ask for something to drink, but her mouth was too dry, and a huge tube was jammed down her throat, but even if she had been able to speak the nurse ignored her, simply adjusting some of the drip lines, tapping a few buttons on the huge rack of monitoring equipment surrounding the bed. Within seconds Buffy felt consciousness begin to ebb, the return of peaceful slumber as welcome as it was irritating. She had really wanted some water.

She _really_ hated hospitals.

-

Regaining consciousness the second time around was marginally less brutal. She had been moved to another room, still apparently in the critical care ward, but no longer linked up to every machine known to medical science inside a steel isolation tank. Most of the tubes were gone, as well as a lot of the bandages, and she was actually wearing a hospital gown this time, which was a big step up from the naked-except-for-the-bandages state she recalled from the previous moment of consciousness. There were still beeping machines, still bags of fluid dripping into tubes impaled in her arms, but her stomach didn't hurt nearly as much, both eyes seemed to be working, and a lot of the scrapes and cuts had healed. Some time had passed… days probably. She was a long, _loong_ way from recovered… but well on the road to _recovering_. As Whistler had promised, she would live.

They were still monitoring her, because almost as soon as she awakened, a nurse arrived, this one wearing surgical clothing including mask, but minus the goggles. This room wasn't quite as sterile as the previous one had been. Another sign of her recovery, she supposed. With the tube no longer blocking her mouth, Buffy tried to speak, her throat so dry the words were barely intelligible. "How'm ah doon'?"

The nurse ignored her, checking the machines surrounding the bed, before once again adjusting the drip going into her arm. That was why Buffy hated hospitals. The way she was ignored, her questions not considered worthy of even a polite response. When she felt consciousness fading Buffy tried to fight it, glaring at the nurse in rage. "You do tha' again an' I'm gonna jam tha' thing…" She faded too fast to complete the threat, but took some satisfaction in the sudden fear in the nurses eyes. It didn't make up for the fact that she wasn't able to withstand the siren effects of the drug, and seconds later was once again out like a light.

-

The third time was apparently the charm, as Buffy awoke in what seemed to be a more typical hospital room, attached to far fewer machines, no longer quite feeling like she was hooked up to a life support system like Spock's brain-less body was back in the classic episode… and she suddenly thought that Xander would pee himself if he knew she had used that analogy. Some kind of plastic clamp was hooked to her fingers, and there was still a drip going into one arm, but both eyes were now clear and her stomach muscles were no longer screaming in agony. Even more importantly, there weren't any tubes stuck into unmentionable parts of her lower anatomy. She wasn't sure how much time had passed, so she lifted her gown to check the scar on her stomach, seeing it was still an angry red jagged line extending from groin up to just below her breast, and estimated it couldn't have been more than a few days since it happened, given her normal rate of recovery. Removing the annoying finger sensor, she scowled when the heart-rate monitor device started buzzing shrilly.

The medical staff arrived quickly. Two of them this time, both looking at her tentatively. Apparently her threat to the previous nurse had been noted, and this time the nurse –a different one, not surprisingly—was accompanied by a doctor. She knew he was a doctor by the fact that he wasn't garbed as thoroughly as the nurse, and carried a stethoscope, and had a monogram saying 'Dr. Elliot Ulezis' sewn into the breast of his surgical shirt. He gave a professional –but obviously sincere- smile when he saw that she was alert and not as dead as the machine was implying, but was careful to remain out of her reach in case she reacted violently. Which brought up the other thing she hated about hospitals; when you dared challenge their omnipotence, they got all prissy and acted like you were the moral equivalent of a cannibal urinating on their temple floor. She really hated hospitals.

"Good afternoon, Miss Summers. I am Dr. Ulezis." Buffy had to restrain herself from mentioning that she wasn't illiterate. "I'm glad to see that you are awake. Also a bit surprised, given the extent of your injuries and the volume of drugs presently in your system. I'm just going to examine you…" He paused when Buffy glared at him, holding up her hand, finger pointing threateningly.

"Water." Her throat was still dry, and that was her priority. If he thought he could feel her up without suffering some serious bodily injury, he was very much mistaken. There was a pause and a whispered debate about the wisdom of providing her with water, but they finally got the message of the danger of _not_ providing her with some goddamn water RFN when she sat up, eyes glaring, feeling sore and tired and put upon and not willing to put up with any more superiority-complex issues from the medical staff -slash- torturing bastards. Long, brutal experience had taught her the necessity of being unremittingly firm with doctors, as they were unruly and needed a disciplined hand to retain control or they would walk all over you.

She got her friggin' water.

The doctor barely let her complete draining the glass before berating her. Not a wise move, but medical people were arrogant and slow to learn, she had already noted. So she permitted him to whine about 'examining' her while she checked the void in her mouth where half her teeth used to be. After giving an audible grunt, she noted that the replacements were dropping, but the process had only just started. Some were much smaller than those they were replacing, as they hadn't had enough time to regrow since the NID knocked out the originals only a few months before. Despite their smaller size, it was just as painful as the last time she went through it. It really sucked to be a woman in her 20's experiencing teething pain. Feeling around her chest, she could easily count the ribs, and there wasn't even the hint of a breast. Every ounce of fat was gone from her body, and a lot of muscle had been cannibalized to repair the damage done during the fight. She probably looked about twelve years old, and as someone who already was somewhat 'challenged' in the height department she was not thrilled with this discovery. The doctor finally noticed that she wasn't paying the slightest attention to his harangue and paused, the silence finally capturing Buffy's attention the way his rant hadn't been able to. One finger still feeling around the inside of her hospital gown, she looked up at him and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Miss Summers, this is a hospital. Our job is to _help_ people who are in need of medical care. This includes you. Whether you realize it or not, you almost _died_. In point of fact, you _should_ have died. At least three of your injuries would have been considered fatal had they occurred to anyone but yourself. So far –_somehow_—your body has substantially recovered from extremely grave injuries, but we have no idea if you are going to suffer a relapse or if the extraordinary effort your body took to fix itself might lead to other complications. You ran a temperature of 119° F for more than 24 hours. No one else in medical history has ever survived such an extended fever. Given the volume of blood you lost and your refusal to receive a transfusion I have no idea how you are even still _alive_, let alone conscious. So much about you, about your extraordinary abilities, is just so _baffling_. I am _not_ going to hurt you, and I might even be able to _help_. Please, let me at least _try_."

Truthfully, Buffy was feeling pretty crappy, so she nodded, lay back on the bed and let the doctor do his thing. He was actually pretty professional about it, probably intimidated by the distrustful glare she aimed at him throughout the process. He was astounded by the degree of healing in the massive scar across her torso, to the point where he had to remove several of the surgical staples before scar tissue covered them over entirely. It was only when he wanted to draw additional blood samples for analysis that Buffy put her foot down. "No."

He hadn't even been speaking to her, merely giving the nurse instructions for the tests he wanted run, and was surprised by the interruption. Buffy already knew that patients were not permitted any voice in what was done to their bodies while held hostage by the medical establishment, so wasn't surprised by his reaction, but also wasn't going to be bullied by it. "Buffy is like the candy store: No Free Samples. No weird testy-thingies. I don't care if you don't understand what's happening. All I care about is _getting better_, not satisfying your curiosity. You want something done on me, you _ask_ me. If it will help me get out of here faster then maybe I'll let you do it. If you can't explain why it will help me, or can't explain it so that I _understand_ why it will help me, then the answer is '_no_.' No blood. No tubes up my tushie. No needles, no drugs, no random samples of various bodily fluids so you can boil them over a Bunsen burner giggling maniacally. I am _not_ a guinea pig here for you to run through a maze. Understand?"

Naturally he argued, but Buffy was adamant. And the nurse had seen the events at the airport on television and wasn't going to do anything likely to get her head chopped off so remained silent. Even so, Buffy was awakened two days later when her 'spider sense' tingled, a warning she did not shake off. She had long since refused to wear the heart rate sensor so there was no warning at the nurses station when she got up from the bed and opened the door to listen. It wasn't an alien she was sensing, it was even worse; State Security agents were talking to Dr. Ulezis about her. He was actually still trying to be professional, claiming doctor/patient confidentiality, but the agents showed him papers which gave them the right to demand all medical records on her status and treatment. Not because they wished her any harm, of course. She had saved the President's life after all. They just wanted to be certain she would be okay.

While they were talking Buffy calmly left her room, and walked down the hall to another room where she found a nurses surgical uniform. She was actually feeling pretty lousy, and would have honestly preferred to remain in bed another couple of days, so to test if she was just imagining things, she found a scalpel, still in its sterilized packaging, and used it to cut deeply into her left shoulder. It hurt, and bled a lot, but she soon located the tiny plastic-and-metal tube. Even unconscious, her senses had known when the trauma nurse had injected the RFID tag into her. Which was why she had threatened her at the time… and spent a few minutes now considering carrying out that threat. Because, even worse, there was another tag in her butt cheek, and she really had to slash away at her ass using her wrong hand to dig it out. Which left her in an even worse mood as she bandaged it up, got dressed in a nurse's scrub outfit she found in the laundry bag, and made her way out of the hospital.

-

Leaving turned out to be a lot easier than she expected. Probably because nobody expected her to be able to leave even if she had wanted to, plus the physical changes that her body had undergone in the four days since everyone on the planet watched her on television ensured that no one recognized her. Her face was swollen, her mouth looked different due to the missing teeth. She was much shorter… probably less than five feet tall. She scowled thunderously at that last thought. She had already been short enough, and it would take months for the bones to regrow enough for her to regain the difference in height. Her skin was paler, and her hair had been chopped back on one side, giving her a punkish look, and had changed color again. It was also a matter of good timing; the morning shift was just arriving, and in her surgical scrubs she fit right in with those walking from the hospital to the attached nurses residence. There she appropriated someone's street clothing, changed and tried to do something with her hair, before calmly walking out into open, hidden by the sheer mass of humanity of morning rush hour traffic even in a small city like Colorado Springs.

It helped that she had prepared for just such an eventuality when she was hiding out before being captured by the SGC. She had prepared a cache of clothing, identification documents, and money, just in case she had to abandon her belongings. She remembered where she had hidden everything, and despite her weakened state was able to move the huge boulder protecting the sealed pack, mostly using leg power but cringing in pain as her damaged stomach muscles made their presence felt. Her own clothes were too big for her, but fit better than those she had stolen. A bit of quick tailoring fixed that enough for most people not to pay too much attention to how baggy they looked, or to dismiss it as another weird fashion statement. It helped that she now looked like she was the proper age for engaging in hormonally-triggered fashion rebellion. After returning to town, she found a restaurant and ate, overhearing other diners talking about the events of the previous few days. Including the interesting tidbit that some senior people in government were claiming that there might be 'hundreds, perhaps even _thousands!_' of the less powerful mental dominants Buffy had called 'Priors in Training' hiding out as Fifth Columnists. And that State Security was requesting they be given emergency powers to hunt them all down, even if civil liberties needed to be 'temporarily' limited given the critical nature of the potential threat.

Sighing, Buffy finished her meal and went to the bus station. There was a street preacher who stood blocking the entrance, bothering everyone as they rushed towards their buses, calling out "Are you a Christian? Do you realize that Rapture is at hand!?" She tried to ignore him, almost used to encountering 'interesting' people at various bus stations by this point in her life. At least he diverted attention from her, and his rant was far preferable to the guy in Phoenix who had come up to her and said "I gotta pee. Do you want to hold it for me?" She wondered how anyone not possessing Slayer powers was brave enough to get on a bus. God only knew she wouldn't have if she didn't, and that would have deprived her of some very interesting times with some pretty… uhm… _interesting_ people. Bus travel might not be the fastest way to see the country, but it sure was the most colorful. And it allowed her some time to think, as she had her own problems to consider.

By now State Security would know that she had disappeared from the hospital. They would soon know, if they didn't know it already, that their tracking devices had been removed. RFID tags weren't active; they had no internal power sources so didn't send off a signal, but were only activated when they returned a signal from an external sensor. She didn't know if the hospital exits had been equipped with such sensors, or how ubiquitous the tags and sensor units had become. She was certain there were no more of them implanted in her body… but her internal senses would not have detected one incorporated into the nursing scrubs she wore when she left the hospital. It was unlikely any had been attached to the clothing she now wore, since it had been buried for awhile. But they would soon be looking for her. Not to arrest her or anything. She wasn't in any actual danger from State Security at the moment, of that she was almost certain. But they were obviously _interested_ in her, and would be taking measures to control her life in the not-too-distant future. If there was anything you could count on, it was that people in power would do whatever was necessary to ensure that they _remained_ in power.

It was a good thing she wasn't so naïve as to believe that the end of the immediate Goa'uld threat meant she was now 'safe' and could freely live out her life, happily ever after. There was a time when she'd believed in happy endings; but that was a long time ago. She was a lot more realistic in her world view now, and had learned the hard way that facing down an obvious external enemy was often the easy part. Afterwards things got more subtle, the fighting almost as deadly but not nearly so honorable. The implanted RFID tags were just the start, and she was already tired of the whole thing. Tired, and sore, and feeling like crap. And annoyed that everyone was treating her like the 13 year old girl she now looked to be.

However they might have had a point, because like anyone who had been hurt and needed time to recover, especially thirteen year old girls, she wanted to go see her mom for some TLC.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

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Return To Normal

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**Chapter Three**

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The house was finally in sight, at the end of a long dirt road, deep in the green woods of an isolated area in New Hampshire. For this particular meeting she hadn't wanted any company, so she'd left Andrew back at the Coven, and felt guilty as hell about it. Those poor witches had no idea what they were in for. But he was very 'high-maintenance' and Dawn knew she would need to be able to devote her full attention to the person she would soon be meeting. Reaching the parking area, she noted several out-building, one obviously a workshop, with stacked wood visible in bins beside another. The house itself was small but extraordinarily well built, by a master carpenter. A battered jeep was visible through the open doors of a sturdy garage, and a not-so-beat-up cargo trailer parked under a covered concrete pad. On the side of the trailer she could read the professionally-drawn label 'Alexander Harris Fine Woodwork.'

She hadn't seen Xander in years. There had never been a final break, or a big argument. But looking back, Dawn could see how he had been shunted aside, his merely-human powers dismissed, his contributions to the effort denigrated. For awhile he had been useful, helping the youngest of the new Slayers adjust to their new situation, but he wasn't part of the inner circle and soon got the message that his presence was no longer required. As time passed Dawn realized that even she had emailed him less and less often, and that he asked fewer and fewer personal questions, until they were just sort of keeping in touch for the sake of keeping in touch. He didn't ask about Buffy, or Willow, or any of the other Slayers or their activities. He seemed to have put that part of his life behind him, concentrating on setting up his new business, living a life of peace and quiet, free from monsters or fighting or dying. When she'd bothered to think of him at all, Dawn had envied him that new life, and never given any thought to wondering if it was the life he wanted or the one he had been forced to accept.

Apparently hearing the car drive up –or more likely having been warned by more sophisticated sensors and closed-circuit television cameras- Xander stepped out from the work shop just as Dawn pulled in to a convenient parking area. Even a quick glance showed that he'd aged well. Physically he'd never been able to compete with the devastating looks of Angel or Spike, and for a time he'd seemed to deliberately put on weight just to prove that he wasn't even trying to compete with them. But without the two vampires around to overshadow him, he'd come into his own. Years of working with hand tools and heavy wood had added muscle to his shoulders and arms; he looked lean and fit, although his dark hair was as shaggy and unkempt as ever. His face might not have Spike's chiseled cheekbones, but was pleasantly open and guileless. Without knowing he'd lost an eye back in Sunnydale she'd never have been able to tell that one of them was a glass replica. His smile was warm and welcoming when he saw who had just arrived.

"Hi Dawnie!" He opened the car door, and ever the gentleman held out a hand to assist her from the low seat, frowning slightly at her high heels, but obviously enjoying the view of her legs as she got out of the low riding sports car. Realizing she wasn't exactly dressed for such a rustic setting in her designer blouse and skirt, Dawn took care to be sure she could stand on the gravel before reaching over to pull him into a big hug. "Hey, Xand." They hadn't seen each other in more than two years. It didn't matter. In their own dysfunctional way, they were _family_, and no matter how long the separation, they always would be.

She didn't say what had brought her to his neck of the woods, and he didn't ask. Ever polite, he showed her around, smiling openly when she quickly got tired of the high heels and returned to her vehicle only long enough to pull on a pair of sneakers. There was obvious pride in his voice and demeanor as he showed her around the shop, as the bunk beds he was building for a client, hand-carved details, more a work of art than a piece of furniture. He had reason to be proud. When he'd left Slayers Inc Xander had found it difficult to adjust to the corporate world. Engineering grads weren't exactly lining up to work in Sunnydale, so employers had promoted people based on their abilities, rather than their paper qualifications. Without those certificates Xander hadn't been able to get a job anywhere close to his capabilities or experience in the non-Sunnydale job market.

When he did finally find employment, he didn't understand the way the corporate game was played. Rather than mindlessly going along with whatever idiotic idea his superiors came up with, Xander told the truth. He didn't suck up to the boss. He didn't come in early or stay late, naively assuming people would realize that he accomplished more before morning break than his counterparts did during their fourteen hour days of back-stabbing and ass-kissing. Or that instead of surfing the 'Net at his desk, he was down at the job site ensuring that actual work got done. Somehow, nobody ever noticed any of this. Jobs completed ahead of time and under budget simply 'proved' that his jobs were _easier_ than everyone else's. Figuring that playing such a game would be more soul-destroying than being bitten by a vampire, Xander gave his notice, and went to work for himself.

Returning to his first love, carpentry, Xander had no compunctions about using his minor degree of fame to attract business. The entire world knew that Xander Harris was an 'original Scooby' and connected to the Slayers; but people didn't just buy his stuff because of his connections to the famous and infamous. Even charging as much as he did for hand-crafted furniture, his clients definitely got value for their money. Enough so that Dawn got the impression that Xander was beginning to get a bit frustrated by having too much work to do, and not enough time to add the extra details he felt would be required to make each item 'perfect' according to his own exacting standards.

It was quite a change from Dawn's memories of Xander, of him being more of a buffoon and a 'butt-monkey' rather than this quietly confident, mature man. It shouldn't have surprised her. She had gone through her own transition, from being the center of attention to being one of the support staff, someone without the mystical power to actually personally challenge the Forces of Evil, but providing a valuable service through research and planning. In his own quiet way Xander had been just as valuable to the cause, providing a voice of perspective, the thoughts of 'the common man' rather than letting everyone immediately follow the Slayer's own 'divinely inspired' I-Am-The-Law impulses. It was no wonder he had been forced out. Had Dawn not been Buffy's sister, she would have been as well, Watcher training or not. Had she been paying more attention, Dawn would have noticed the 'elitist' aura coming to the forefront of Slayer attitudes back when Xander had been pushed aside, and realized the implications of that sort of behavior a lot sooner.

After the tour they entered Xander's house, a small two-bedroom bungalow, still smelling of sawn wood, piles of dirty laundry tossed at random, dirty dishes stacked in the sink indicating pretty clearly that this place was inhabited by a bachelor. "What happened to… Katrin? Weren't you living with someone the last time I heard from you?" It hadn't been _that_ long before, had it? No more than a few… months –damn, had it really been _months_ since her last email?—and he had happily noted that his relationship with a local girl had been proceeding swimmingly.

Giving her his patented, shy, self-deprecating smile, Xander tried to look abashed, but she could see the pain and lingering bitterness behind the façade. "It turns out she thought I'd be taking her to all the fancy dress balls you people have in Cincinnati for the 'movers and shakers' of the world. When I told her there wasn't any fancy soirée's like that, and even if there were I wouldn't have been invited to them, she decided to go elsewhere in her unending effort to climb the social ladder and finally be welcomed among the elite society to which she was unfairly denied at birth. Uhh… that came out a little bit more bitter than I thought it would. No psych issues here. Nope, not a one."

Smiling sympathetically, Dawn forced herself not to think of how many guys she had met who wanted to use her connections for their own attempt at clawing their way to the top. She was a Hot Babe, dammit, and it really sucked that most of the guys who interested her only saw her as a means to an end. And who then got offended when she called them on it, and tried to twist it into a problem with her 'feelings of inferiority.' Yes, Dawn could match Xander in bitterness any day of the week. One of the problem with being attracted to ambitious, driven men was the fact that they too often demanded her own needs take a back seat to their ambition and drive. The whole thing got real old, real fast. "You should have broke it off when the tests came back saying she was 100 human. Face it Xan, you're a demon magnet."

She was going to commiserate when she noticed that, unlike the main bedroom, the guest bedroom was perfectly clean, the sheets freshly washed, even fresh flowers on the bedside table. Frowning, she looked over at Xander, who didn't need the question to answer her unvoiced accusation. "They called me yesterday to tell me you were coming. Buffy said you were a bit upset over her new relationship. I, uh… hadn't heard about that. Nothing in the paper about it, and I don't watch tv anymore. _Soooooo_…. The Buff-ster and Willow,' eh? Damn, if you only knew how many fantasies I had in high school about just that…. Okay, definitely entering the 'Too Much Information' zone here…"

For a second or three Dawn stood silent, open-mouthed in shock, his reaction the last thing she had expected, but oh-so-Xander. Finally she couldn't help herself, and started laughing, a full-throated and genuine amusement only partially tinged with underlying hysteria. _Of course_ they'd know where she was going. Where else could she have _gone_? It wasn't like there were a lot of options, when everyone she knew was either in league with- or terrified of- her sister. Her only options were Xander or Faith, and Dawn wasn't quite desperate enough to go looking for Faith. "Are they sending someone to take me back?"

Taking a seat in one of the massive, and apparently hand made, chairs in the living area, in front of a forced-air fireplace where ashes suggested frequent use, Xander shook his head. "Naw, they understand you need some time alone. I told them there's nothing out here more dangerous than the occasional deer. Something about this place repels vampires, which is why I settled here. If you just want some space to get your head together, you're more than welcome to stay. Nothing around here but miles and miles of miles and miles in every direction. Peace, quiet, and a lack of Hellmouth-y goodness. Buffy agreed with me that this is probably as safe a place as you could find to run away to."

Nodding, Dawn scowled at the idea of her 'running away' –she was almost 22 years old, dammit!—and silently thanked her sister –her _real_ sister, not the psycho bitch—for the suggestion of using Buffy and Willow's relationship as an excuse for wanting to get away from Cleveland. She'd set the stage pretty carefully. Nobody had the slightest idea she was now certain that the woman wearing Buffy's skin, answering to Buffy's name, wasn't really Buffy. She hadn't told her closest friends about Buffy's visit, and she'd been _extremely_ careful when investigating the claims her real sister had made in order to ensure that she wasn't trusting the wrong Buffy. Even here, with Xander, she intended to proceed cautiously, despite her sister saying she could trust him with the truth. The idea of freaking out over Buffy having an affair with her best friend provided such a perfect cover story she didn't intend to give it up until she was absolutely certain he could be trusted. "Thanks, I'm going to take you up on that offer. If you don't mind, I'll go get my luggage. I need to change out of these clothes…"

One problem quickly reared its ugly head; she didn't really have any clothing suitable for Xander's place. The least 'sophisticated' clothing she had brought was a pair of designer jeans which cost more than some cars. Given how fabulous they made her ass look their exorbitant cost was more than justified…but they really didn't fit in with Xander's Levi's and lumberjack shirt. But, she knew Xander, and Buffy's kid sister or not, knew he'd enjoy the view. More importantly, once she changed out of her dress and into her jeans it would distract him while she checked for bugs and other monitoring devices around the premises. Buffy had an army of slayers at her command, an international organization devoted to supporting their activities, and a ton of money to indulge her paranoia. Even if Xander was no longer an insider, she suspected the First would want to keep an eye on him, just in case. And if she wanted to do some research, she knew she have to go up against Willow. Dawn knew how good she was with computers, but didn't delude herself into thinking she was a better hacker than the person she had recently infuriated by calling 'my new mommy.' Willow had taught her everything she knew about computers, but not everything _Willow_ knew, and Dawn could not allow herself to forget that for a minute. Her very survival depended on it.

Fortunately Xander was a Scooby, and said nothing about the extremely sophisticated detection equipment Dawn started using as soon as she emerged from her bedroom, merely raising his eyebrows, and the only words he spoke were to casually complement the way her jeans fit. He rolled his eyes in annoyance when the detector quickly spotted multiple bugs, not surprised but clearly irritated by the confirmation that he had been under observation by people he had considered his friends. Muttering that he would give her some time to settle in and would be in the shop, he left the house soon afterwards. Dawn didn't remove the bugs, but marked them, then returned to her car to remove the satellite equipment she'd need for her internet link. She knew that Willow would be able to monitor that link –even thought the provider was private, the NSA monitored such traffic and co-operated with Slayers Inc—but she had a plan that she hoped would permit her to get the data she needed without Willow tumbling on to her objective. Or at least, to make is difficult enough that it would take Willow some time to figure out her true objective among all the random noise.

It took a couple of hours to set up the small dish, bore-sight it on the satellite, and get a working connection. Dawn then took more time to set up a wireless network, suspecting that Xander didn't stay up too late and wouldn't appreciate having her use the main computer in the living area at all hours. There was the proper software on her laptop to monitor the traffic on the main PC. It would take days, and gigabytes of downloaded information, before she could proceed with her real tasks. Until then, everything would just be a smoke-screen designed to convince Willow that she was simply angry about their relationship, and was off sulking. Given her history, Dawn knew it wasn't an unwarranted assumption, and intended to support that idea as much as possible for as long as possible. But, despite doing everything in her power to ensure everyone leapt to the conclusion she wanted them to reach, she was a bit miffed about how easy it had been. She'd spent years living down her reputation as a spoiled whiney brat. All it took was a few days of bitching and everyone decided she had reverted to type.

After setting up a few random bittorrent downloads just to test the stability of the connection, and hopefully freak out Willow by grabbing some truly bizarre Slovak man-on-goat porn vids --had it been anyone else she would have tried tentacle-rape hentai, but she knew Willow got kind of turned on by it-- she left the house to check out Xander's workshop. He was doing something with a planer, shaving off wood to perfect smoothness, the shrill noise of the motor making conversation difficult, and voice surveillance impossible. When Dawn came up to him, Xander didn't turn off the machine, barely even glanced at her. "I can't believe she'd bug my home. Well, actually I _can_, I just didn't want to know. I've got one of those bug detector gizmos somewhere. Never used it. Didn't want to know that either she didn't trust me, or if she thought I was so useless it didn't matter a damn if she trusted me or not."

"She _didn't_ trust you."

That earned her a glare. "Not helping here, Dawnie. I love your sister, well, like a sister, but the girl does obsess. Took her five years to tell me she was pissed off that I lied to her once. Hell, I'd forgotten all about it by that point! But she just couldn't let it go…"

Dawn had to think a bit before recalling the incident he was mumbling about, since she hadn't been present for it. From what she remembered, Buffy hadn't been 'obsessing' over the matter, had only brought it up to put the situation they were in at the time in context. "When Buffy had to kill Angelus, Willow told you to let her know she would try to return his soul. You didn't tell her… because you figured that it would slow her down, prevent her from doing what she had to do. She _understood_, 'Xand. She never brought it up because it wasn't worth arguing about. You made a judgment call, and even though she disagreed with it, there was no point in arguing about it after it no longer mattered when there was a good chance you might have been _right_. She only brought it up later because you were suddenly arguing the other way, saying that Anya deserved some slack when she got back in the vengeance business, after you had denied it to Angel. That's hardly 'obsessing!' Newsflash, Xand; people bend over backwards to support those they love. That doesn't make them hypocrites. It makes them _human_."

For a second it looked like he wanted to argue, before Xander sighed and returned to his woodwork. "Then explain why she's bugging my house."

To that, Dawn waved it aside. "Different issue completely. She _doesn't_ trust you. She doesn't trust _me_. She doesn't trust _anyone_. For good reason. You hear about that big weapons shipment the Turkish navy found heading for Lebanon? Guess who paid for it?"

For a second he just stood there, expression blank, before returning to his planer. "So you _really_ got a hate on for her because of this Willow thing, 'eh Dawnie?"

Dawn sighed. She'd moved too quickly. "Yeah, whatever. Don't give me any crap about this, Harris. I saw the report you sent in for the last job you did for Slayers, Inc. The _real_ report, the one you sent 'Eyes Only' to Buffy, not that white-wash job you did for the masses. So don't try to bullshit me about not knowing what was happening even back then. It's only gotten worse since you bailed."

For a few years after Sunnydale went under they had searched the world for newly-Called slayers. Many of them were just kids, some as young as eleven, who didn't understand the changes they were undergoing and couldn't handle the slayer enhancements on top of their natural hormonal changes involved in starting their periods. They sent almost all of the younger girls to Xander. He just had a way of dealing with kids that made him a natural babysitter. Other, older, slayers came out to train the kids… but until they got a handle on the changes they were undergoing they belonged to Xander, and he loved them. They, in turn, worshipped the ground he walked on. It took a lot for them to alienate Xander enough to make him leave his kids…but Buffy had managed to do it. She had made a deal with a local shaman to take out a particularly obnoxious group of demons. But the price he had demanded was unacceptable to Xander's conscience. Dozens of lives had been saved by the deal Buffy worked out… but at the cost of losing a part of his soul. There were other ways they might have resolved the problem --granted they might have gotten more people killed, and it would have taken more time-- but in the long run they would have been better off both morally and strategically. Buffy had needed a quick victory for political reasons, which had not been a good enough excuse for a man who had once looked to Buffy as the hero who would always make an ethical judgment. He had done what she asked… and then he had resigned, left Cleveland, and never looked back.

It had taken some time and hard work, but his business was finally taking off, his life seemed to be getting back on track. It would only figure that Dawn would suddenly show up demanding he take another look at moral descent of the girl he had once respected as the epitome of ethical righteousness. One of the reasons he no longer watched the news or read any magazines advertising stories about the slayers was because he didn't want to know how many other 'questionable' decisions they had made, how quick they were to justify making ethically-dubious choices in the interest of expediency. He didn't know how Buffy could have morphed into Travers from almost the moment she gained control of the Council, and didn't really _want_ to know. But he couldn't deny that he was trying to pretend Dawn was whining about trivial issues when he knew damned well there were far more serious underlying problems. Problems he couldn't do anything about anyway. "Maybe hooking up with Willow will help her out, stop her from thinking she has to handle everything herself…"

Snorting in contempt at his tentative suggestion, Dawn looked at him pityingly, her eyes meeting his without flinching. "Willow is doing magic again. The deep stuff, I think. They have been bringing animals down to her lab, and it sure as hell ain't because she's testing cosmetics. Rats and chickens mostly, but some young deer as well. No _people_ sacrificed so far, so far as I know, but she's dyed her hair black, and wears sunglasses all the time now. I tried talking to her a dozen times, and she dismissed me like I was the scum under her shoe. You're suggesting that _Willow_ is going to stop Buffy from going off the deep end?! You're dreaming in Technicolor, Xand. That's where Willow _lives_ now."

Returning his attention to the hardwood plank, Xander didn't look at Dawn as he contemplated the situation. In truth, he'd known this day would eventually come. When he first met Buffy he'd put her on a mental pedestal no human being could live up to, and she hadn't. He'd done his best to 'forgive' her for being merely human, and not the heroic goddess he'd wanted her to be. When she made a decision based on emotion, or took a stand he disagreed with, he tried to put aside his resentment that his opinion didn't seem to matter. In truth, it didn't, nor should it have. _She_ was the Slayer. The final decision was hers to make, since she was the one who usually had to pay the price for failure. And he certainly couldn't argue with her success rate. But over time her decisions started getting closer and closer to an ethical edge he never would have guessed she might cross. So he'd left the Scoobies rather than watch his childhood hero fall from grace, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it. And as for Willow… he could only sigh with regret. "Willow is a big girl, Dawnie. Too big for us to tell her what to do any more. There are what, nearly a thousand slayers now? If _they_ can't handle Willow, we sure as hell aren't going to be able to."

The young woman simply grunted. "Yeah, there's a lot of slayers; but the ones who don't worship Buffy are afraid of pissing her off. And even more terrified of crossing Willow. Buffy is real good at spotting the leaders, the ones who might challenge her, and either co-opting them or putting them in harms way until they suffer a fatal case of death. Ever since Faith was kicked out, Kennedy has been pretty much senior, and she's even crazier than Buffy. It would take something pretty spectacular to make the rank-and-file slayers turn on them."

It was then Xander's turn to grunt. "It would take something pretty spectacular to may _you_ turn on them. So I guess this is where you tell me what made you decide your sister has gone over the deep end."

There was a long pause as Dawn considered her options. She wasn't going to just blurt it all out. Dropping the full story on him cold would be too much for him to accept. But she knew Xander well enough to know that feeding it to him piecemeal wouldn't go over well either. So, swallowing nervously, she let him have it. "I've been thinking about this for a long time. It took me a long time to see it, but I've come to the conclusion that the person in charge of the slayers is _not_ Buffy. I _know_ Buffy, and that isn't her. No way she'd do some of the things I see happening at Slayers Inc. No way she'd manipulate Willow like she is. No way she'd screw with the world like we're seeing. Buffy is a lot of things, but she is _not_ a manipulator out to amass personal power. I don't know who it is… no, that's a lie. I _do_ know who it is, and that is _not_ Buffy."

To her surprise her old friend just sighed, assessing the grain in his wooden plank, never once looking up at her. "Faith showed up here a couple of months ago. She had this ludicrous idea that Buffy had died in the Hellmouth cavern under Sunnydale, and what we are dealing with now is actually the _First_, made corporeal somehow. She told me this ridiculous story about seeing the Torak-han stabbing Buffy in the back, and that the little cut she had when she got to the bus was about a tenth as big as it was when she saw it happen. I told her she was crazy. Even if she saw what she thought she saw, Buffy has slayer healing and it just got better real fast. I told Faith she was just being jealous again.

"But Faith knows a thing or two about slayer healing herself. And I keep remembering that smile Buffy made when you asked her what we were going to do after we got out of the bus to look at the crater. There was just something… _wrong_… with that smile. It bothered me so much I volunteered for the Africa thing, tried to stay away from Slayer HQ so I wouldn't have to see what I didn't want to see. But ever since Sunnydale I've known that something wasn't right with her."

For long seconds Dawn just stared at him, jaw dropped open in shock. "Shit. A big part of me wanted you to tell me I was crazy. Uh… you didn't talk about this anywhere you could be overheard, did you?"

"No. Surprisingly enough, Faith didn't trust my palatial abode to be bug-free either. We talked about it out here, with a lot of machinery turned on, just like we're doing now. I guess she wasn't as paranoid as I thought she was."

"Do you know where she is now? Neither of us were down in that cavern. I'd love to know what Faith saw. Maybe if we can figure out how it happened, we can reverse it. Or something."

They both fell silent, Dawn having a pretty good idea as to what Xander was thinking. If Faith was right, then Buffy had died in that cavern under Sunnydale. Until then he hadn't really allowed the possibility of it being true to sunk in. Dawn, at least, was comforted with the knowledge that her sister had been revived in an alternate universe. But Xander was confronting the likely confirmation of what had previously only been suspicion; that one of his best friends, his childhood hero, was dead. And in her place was a monster, manipulating his _other_ best friend, turning her into someone he didn't even want to know any more.

That night, he got out a bottle of something and proceeded to get drunk. He'd loved Buffy since he was sixteen. The certain knowledge that their relationship would never go in the direction he'd once not-so-secretly hoped it would transformed him into a _friend_. A friend for _life_. One who would be there long after the occasional 'boyfriend' had disappeared into history. They were, in fact, closer than most married couples. He'd run away because he couldn't bear to watch his friend turn into a monster. Finally being unable to hide from the knowledge that she was dead was even worse than just suspecting it. But in a way it was also cathartic, because at least he was reassured that his childhood hero hadn't turned into a monster, but had _been_ turned into one. So he drank, to remember his friend. His childhood hero. And once he was drunk enough, he turned to his childhood hero's sister, and asked her what she wanted him to do.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

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Return To Normal

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**Chapter Four**

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It turned out to be one of the better bus rides she'd taken. Mostly because they figured she was a kid so sat her up front near the driver, and she slept through most of the trip. At one rest stop she threw up a stomach full of blood into the sink, and a few of her fellow passengers enquired if she needed a doctor, but Buffy merely shook her head, mumbled that she was going home, and just wanted to be left alone. They naturally assumed she had some horrible wasting disease and was returning to her estranged family to die. Had things been different Buffy would have felt guilty about deceiving them, but in this case accepted the silent sympathy because it got her what she wanted; privacy. The story got around, and she was left alone, the other passengers being excessively solicitous to her and not disturbing her while she slept. By bus travel standards, where insanity and creepiness were unfortunately all too common among those you were forced to share accommodation with, the trip could not have gone any better. She slept, and ate a ton of junk food, puked up a lot of blood, slept some more, and slowly healed as the bus drove on towards LA.

She got off the bus on the outskirts of the city, quite a ways from the terminal, the bus driver accommodating her request and even going so far as to offer her help getting where ever it was she was going. Buffy simply thanked him politely, grabbed her bag, and got off. It was late, and she was really in no shape to fight off even normal street thugs if she happened to get jumped, but she was close to where her mother had moved after leaving her father following their final breakup. It was a townhouse, even uglier than the one they had been in before, and Buffy sighed after considering her mother's likely financial situation. Willow had checked things out for her, so she knew her mom wasn't in dire straights or anything, but she was a just-divorced woman who hadn't had a steady job in nearly a decade, who had just recovered from brain surgery and who needed a job which included some serious medical coverage. Despite all her troubles, Buffy had absolute confidence that her mom could deal with it. After all, she'd been able to deal with something similar back in the Sunnydale universe. Only this time Buffy was in a position where she could help, at least financially, and intended to do just that.

There were cars parked on the street in front of her townhouse, either media or State Security, and Buffy took care to remain hidden. Moving around to the back, she grunted with pain leaping over the fence, despite using one hand to brace herself when normally she would have been able to leap twice as high from a standing start. It wasn't like she needed another hint that Slayer healing wasn't anywhere near up to the challenge she had just put it through. Absently rubbing her sore stomach, she walked up to the back door and quietly knocked. When she saw her nervous-looking mother peek through the curtains she smiled wryly and gave a quick wave, just a flicking of her fingers, enjoying the shock and excitement that quickly replaced any nervousness in her mother's expression. The door was quickly opened, and Buffy tried to act all casual, saying "Hi, mom!" before she was suddenly wrapped in a maternal embrace that, to her surprise, had her reduced to a state of babbling tears within seconds. She had felt so grown up, so mature, only seconds earlier; but once swept up into her mothers arms she was immediately reduced to a state of childhood, of finding absolute safety in her mothers protective arms, the rest of the world temporarily disappearing.

It took awhile for them to let go of each other, Buffy suddenly realizing that she was hugging her mom with the sort of strength normally displayed only by a feeding anaconda. The groan wasn't loud, and seemed more happy than pained, but Buffy had spent years adjusting to her enhanced strength, having learned the hard way the potential cost to life and limb, so released her tight grip immediately. Fortunately her mother wasn't either hurt or angry, simply smiling at her and pulling her daughter inside, closing the door behind them. "Reporters have been camped out here for days. I had to call the police when they trespassed on the lawn trying to look inside the windows after I closed the curtains. I can't believe you're here! Why on earth did you leave the hospital, Eliz…uh, Buffy? You were terribly hurt, and the doctors say you're not even close to healing…"

Meekly following as her mom marched her over to a comfy chair, one maternal arm over her shoulder brooking no defiance, Buffy was actually relieved to drop into its cushy comfort. "I'm not a big hospital fan. Too many bad memories…" She left it at that, despite her mom's confused and somewhat fearful glance. Fortunately she didn't ask for any details. They wouldn't have improved her already overly-horrified concern for her wayward daughter. "I felt good enough to leave, and they were pushing to do anal probes and icky things on me that might satisfy their curiosity but would do nothing to help me get better, so I just walked out. You're a better doctor than any of them anyway. That was a hint, by the by. I'm kinda hungry…"

The less than subtle hint was met with a frenzy of cooking, the sheer 'mom-ness' of the display forcing a smile to Buffy's lips as she moved to the kitchen and took a seat out of the way, content to watch her mother broil a steak, along with veggies and fruit and ice cream and pop and milk and potatoes and muffins and… well, enough food to feed an army, or a healing Slayer. Buffy was too busy stuffing her face to talk very much, but that was more than alright with her mom, who had been obsessively following the news ever since her daughter's sudden and unbelievably dramatic re-appearance on global television. She didn't actually say anything about the lack of contact since her abduction, but the way she _didn't_ bring it up spoke volumes, forcing Buffy to address the unasked question. "I'm pretty sure State Security was monitoring your phone, your email… probably still is. If they've bugged your home they now know I'm here, but if they have and they are listening to me…" she raised her voice to ensure that anyone listening got the message loud and clear "…they should know that if they so much as knock on the door I'll break every bone in their collective bodies. I've got… issues… with them."

That earned her a worried mom-glance. "They questioned me after you, ah, escaped… from them a few months ago. They were pretty unpleasant. And then everything just went away, as if it never happened. Do you want to… talk about it?"

"No." She was just going to leave it at that, but finally realized that this was her _mom_ she was talking to, so without looking up from her plate mumbled "Maybe some day. But not now…" and went back to eating. Fortunately her mother took pity on her and dropped the subject, but both knew she would bring it up again in the not so distant future. And that she'd have to answer. The worst part of dealing with your mom was that you couldn't tell her to go to hell. Not if you expected mom-TLC when you came to her after getting your ass kicked. Plus she had that whole guilt-trip thing mom's could pull out at the drop of a hat when needed. Buffy already knew she was going to lose the argument, and for probably the first time in her life felt afraid _for_ her father. Her story would _not_ go over well. When she found out what had happened, her mom was going to hunt down Hank and carve him a new one. With a dull knife.

While Buffy stuffed herself, her mom ran into the living room to grab a folder jammed with newspaper and magazine clippings related to the dramatic events at the Colorado Springs Airport and their follow up. Much of it was directed towards Buffy. She scowled when 'Colonel Jonathan O'Neill' was quoted as referring to her as 'an authentic superhero,' and absolutely laying it on thick whenever they asked him anything about the SGC. Her mother didn't understand, and waxed poetic over what she assumed was the gi-normous esteem Buffy was held in by her SGC colleagues. Buffy knew the truth though; Jack figured she was already burned, so whenever the reporters tried to find out more about the SGC he diverted them by offering an additional tidbit on Buffy's personal and professional lives. An outsider might think he was giving her the entire credit for saving the world. Buffy knew he was protecting his own secrets by diverting the media towards one irresistibly photogenic target: _her_.

It was soon apparent that her mom thought Jack was more than a little photogenic himself. When she first noticed that fact –far later than she should have, her subconscious mind barely able to tolerate even the concept of her mom doing the 'wild thing' with _Jack O'Neill_, of all people—Buffy had a field day teasing her, enjoying the blush she was able to bring to her mom's face every time she brought up another clipping with his stern, but admittedly distinguished-looking face prominently displayed. More pictures of him than her, Buffy pointed out time and again, really milking it now that she had her mom on the run. When she had finally had enough of the teasing and raised her fist threateningly, her mom looked into her eyes, both of them smiling and giggling, and suddenly realized how close they were, how much had changed between them but how much was still the same. Which brought about another 'mom-hug' which meant infinitely more to Buffy than any of the laudatory editorials among the media clippings. Mom-hugs were the best-est reward ever.

Finally stuffed, and barely able to keep her eyes open, Buffy meekly obeyed when her mom ordered her to bed. Joyce was actually a bit embarrassed that she had set up one of the two bedrooms as 'Buffy's Room.' Not a spare bedroom, for guests. _Buffy's_ room; for her daughter. A daughter she had wondered if she would ever see again. All of the furnishings they had purchased after her release from the asylum were there, her old blankets, her old clothes. There was a safe familiarity to the room which allowed Buffy to fall asleep the second her head hit the pillow. She never saw how long her mother stood at the door, just watching her, silent tears of relieved joy streaming down her face.

-

After awakening the next morning, the first thing Joyce did was check up on her daughter. When the bed was empty she almost panicked, wondering if she'd just dreamed it all, before she was able to reassure herself with the observation that _someone_ had been sleeping in the bed. It took only seconds to recall something she had read in one paper or another about the_ 'Slayer'_ needing very little sleep. There was a lot of speculation as to what exactly a 'Slayer' was, but according to the ambulance driver that was the moniker she had been given by Colonel O'Neill when his team intercepted his vehicle, and the media ran with it. The Colonel hadn't told them what a Slayer _did_, nor did Joyce during the thousand phone calls she had been inundated with by media outlets world-wide over the past few days once they traced Buffy's identity back to Elizabeth Summers. They also knew O'Neill had stated that she was only 'partly' human, and that she could kick some serious ass. Joyce was pretty worried about what her now-mercifully-_ex_-husband was going to say in the exclusive interview he had granted one of the trashiest of the tabloids in return for a reported $250,000 fee.

Knowing she would have to warn her daughter that the stories she had told while in the psychiatric hospital might soon be made public, Joyce hurried downstairs, not hearing Buffy but seriously doubting the girl would have left the house, given the massive media presence outside. But she didn't see her in the living room or kitchen either, and was getting a bit worried when she heard some noise coming from the basement. It took some effort to prevent herself from gasping aloud when she saw the girl with her feet squeezed into the floor joist spacer, hanging upside down from the ceiling, doing full body lifts, bringing her head all the way up to reach her toes. Repeatedly, one after another, without pause or apparent effort. The huge, angry-red scar along her abdomen was horribly obvious each time she straightened out, her midriff visible thanks to the fact that she was only wearing sweat pants and a sports bra. From the amount of sweat covering her body, Joyce suspected the girl had been doing the exercise for quite some time.

"Buffy! My god, you're going to tear out your stitches! It's only been a few days and you need time to heal…"

She stopped speaking as her daughter casually reached up with one hand to hold the wooden bar supporting her legs, then effortlessly extricate herself and drop to the floor. Given that her daughter was now even shorter than she had been before she left home, there should have been some noise from the non-trivial drop onto the concrete of the basement floor, but there wasn't the slightest sound. It was so cat-like that had she not been smiling, Joyce might have been a bit intimidated by the display of feline prowess. "There are no stitches. I removed the staples in the bathroom at a gas station in Phoenix with some nail clippers. Don't look at me like that; I'm used to it. At least this time I didn't have to do any sewing-up first! That's the part that's really gross. To heal properly I need to exercise. Just light stuff for now, but I'll have to give it a more intense workout in the next few days so I don't leave a scar." Given how much Joyce hurt just watching her do the ab-crunches, she wondered what Buffy considered to be an 'intense' workout, but didn't want to ask.

"Okay, you must know what you're doing… but come on up stairs now and I'll make you breakfast. Even if the scar will heal, it frightens me that I can count your ribs like that. You really need to eat some more…"

Buffy just looked at her and smiled, privately enjoying the gentle chiding, although she would have been offended had it been offered by anyone else. The obvious pleasure in her mom's expression when she ate everything that was placed in front of her once they got back to the kitchen prevented her from declining anything, until finally even her rapid metabolism couldn't handle another bite. Throughout the huge breakfast Joyce had maintained a constant stream of comments on things she had read, Buffy's physical appearance, and finally her new job. It was the latter which interested her daughter the most, and she suddenly took full part in the conversation, demanding full details on the job, the work environment, and most importantly full and exhaustive details on any 'hotties' whom her mother might be interested in at the job site. When that somehow didn't actually cause Joyce to expire on the spot in mortification, Buffy added that she didn't just want to know about anyone her mom might be considering for a full-on relationship, but even those she was looking at for a quick tumble or just a lunchtime boink in the copier room. When her mom shouted an embarrassed, shocked "_Buffy_!!!" her daughter just laughed at her with a satisfied, smug grin, and demanded details.

It said something about their relationship that Buffy noticed the slight glint in her eye, the subtlest signal that there was actually someone who had captured her interest, when none of Joyce's closest friends had seen the signs, when Joyce herself barely acknowledged them. It was too soon. She'd only been divorced for a few months. Although, in truth, she hadn't been in a _real_ marriage for years. And there was absolutely no way in hell she would admit to her daughter how long it had been since she'd actually had _sex_! But her new boss really was something special. A good ten years older than her, he was still in great shape, carried himself well, dressed smartly, and invariably acted with the very personification of refined manners. He was born to wealth, and had used it to indulge his passion for the arts, particularly antiquities. Joyce knew she wasn't the only one on staff who found him attractive, even discounting his money, but he had gone through a especially nasty –and particularly expensive—divorce some years earlier, and did not fraternize with the staff. Even those on staff who made it abundantly clear that such fraternization would be welcome.

Somehow, without knowing exactly how it came about, Joyce found herself telling her daughter everything, her slowly blossoming feelings for the man, her fears for making the next move, her confusion about re-entering the dating game she hadn't participated in since first meeting Hank almost 23 years earlier. It shouldn't have come as a surprise that Buffy was solicitous, supportive, and constantly reinforcing her badly-frayed self-esteem. One of the reasons Joyce had been so fearful when Buffy hadn't contacted her after she was taken away by State Security, even after she escaped from them, was the horrified suspicion that her daughter might suspect she had had something to do with the abduction. She had wanted to swear on a stack of bibles that she hadn't known about it, hadn't participated in it, or had anything to do with it. But Buffy hadn't even brought it up. Had, in fact, by her actions made it clear that she didn't have the slightest suspicion her mother might have betrayed her. It was reassuring, and wonderful… and somehow made it hurt even more that Buffy hadn't tried to contact her just to offer that reassurance before, even if she hadn't been able to do so in person.

It gave Joyce a bit of insight into the virtual stranger who was her daughter. A bizarre combination of solicitous familial devotion, and self-centered, battle-hardened intensity. Their present conversation made it abundantly clear that Buffy loved her and supported her as much as any daughter could ever support a mother experiencing the changes in her life Joyce was presently undergoing. But Joyce had to acknowledge that there was another side to her loving daughter, the 'Buffy' side she privately called it, who was devoted to her cause with an almost fanatical focus. Next to her Cause, even family would take a back seat. It could have been a lot worse; her daughter could have joined a cult, or gotten into the drug scene, or, horror of horrors, become a Young Republican. Still, it hurt a bit that Joyce would not always come first in Buffy's priorities. She felt kind of petty for feeling that way. She would have come second if Buffy had gotten married, or become a famous athlete, or simply grew to adulthood like any normal daughter. It wasn't due to a lack of love, but simply the way things were. But it was during times like this, when her daughter provided more comfort and encouragement than any friend could, that she regretted the fact that Buffy now _was_ an adult, in every way that mattered, when she hadn't had a chance to watch her grow up.

She tried to put that into words, but knew the feelings were so complex she would never be able to articulate everything she was feeling. "Next to everything I've gone through for the past few months, telling a nice guy I'm interested should be pretty simple. But I've never been so scared in my entire life." Later, Joyce would wonder if people would understand their conversation. Would be stunned to learn that she was discussing _relationship issues_ with a girl who every media pundit in the world would kill to interview, to learn about her background, her amazing abilities, the unbelievable monsters she fought. They likely wouldn't understand that neither she nor Buffy cared about those minor details. There were _important_ matters to discuss; relationships, men in general, their mutual spectacular failures with both. Buffy told her about Angel, and part of the truth about Spike. Joyce returned the favor by telling about the beginnings of her relationship with Hank, the few boyfriends she had checked out before settling on him, what she was looking for now and how unlikely she was to find it so late in life.

Hours passed, the muted television in the background showing talking heads blathering on about aliens and Slayers and world-shaking events; mother and daughter ignoring it for the most part to concentrate on the story of 'how Joyce met Hank' and the joys and disappointments of beginning a new relationship. The only time they paid any attention was when it was finally reported that Buffy was 'missing' from the hospital. O'Neill got some airtime, and went off on a rant about how State Security had demanded, and been given, authority over her safety while the Slayer was in the hospital, how they'd forbidden anyone, including her friends at the SGC, to contact her until they were certain _they_ were not PiT's, and how this was the result. He managed to work no less than twelve instances of the word 'incompetent' into his three-minute segment. In the end he'd had to admit that nobody was really worried. Despite her injuries, Buffy was more than capable of looking after herself.

After a bit of scowling, Buffy asked her mom to turn off the television, knowing that it wouldn't be long now before they tracked her down. There was a lot she wanted to discuss with her mom before they did. Much of what they talked about Joyce found rather uncomfortable; the story of Buffy's particularly twisted relationship with Spike, and the horrifying reason why it had come about in the first place. Worse, she knew she wasn't even hearing the full story, the humiliating parts Buffy couldn't bring herself to talk about. But she knew this was important. This was something Buffy wouldn't discuss with anyone else, not even with her closest friends. Only a mother could be approached about something so personal, with the knowledge that she wouldn't be judged, would be loved no matter what. It was a story Buffy desperately _needed_ to tell, and Joyce knew that her counterpart's death on Buffy's other world had been a devastating blow to her ability to deal with the situation she had found herself in. Her daughter wasn't looking for answers, or forgiveness; she was looking for someone to share her story with, someone who she knew would never betray her trust, would never find her wanting and love her unconditionally despite her making some spectacularly bad decisions.

It took a long time before Joyce called a break, Buffy's stomach rumbling audibly despite the huge breakfast she had consumed only a few hours earlier. After chowing down an equally calorie-intensive lunch, Buffy went down to the basement to do some more of her exercises, ignoring the food in her stomach, while Joyce watched the mid-day news. Her phone was set on mute so they hadn't heard it ring, but there was 34 messages on the machine, which she deleted without listening to them. She did call into her place of work to let them know that the media attention was so intense she would be taking a few more days off. To her surprise, she was transferred to her boss, who expressed his sympathy for the sudden, overwhelming attention, and his understanding that she would need some time off to deal with it. When Buffy came back upstairs she noticed the slightly flushed glow on her cheeks, and immediately zeroed in on the reason for it, leading to a teasing session that had Joyce openly muttering that she had been better off when her daughter was in a catatonic state.

Her comment was meant to be hyperbole, not to be taken seriously, but Joyce was horrified to have made it at all. Buffy's reaction hadn't been obvious, just a momentary tightening of her lips, which she quickly shook off with a laugh. But Joyce saw it, and probed, even though it was pretty obvious she was making her daughter a bit uncomfortable. When she finally told her, Joyce had to restrain herself from flying off in a rage when told about her counterpart telling her not to come back if she left the house when she first learned of her daughter's Calling. After taking a few seconds to calm down, she tried to explain to the girl that it hadn't been meant as an ultimatum, had likely been a desperate attempt to protect a daughter who had outgrown her parental authority by trying to reemphasize it in explicit terms. But inside she was shaking in rage at the stupidity of such an ultimatum, even though she could understand why it had been made. Teenagers were so fragile, their need for parental approval at war with their ever-increasing desire for independence, and she knew that the other Joyce had done the worst possible thing at the worst possible time, even if it had been done out of love.

Joyce didn't want to dwell too much on the matter when it was apparently not something Buffy obsessed over, but she wanted to reassure her daughter that the 'threat' hadn't been made seriously, was an result of fear overriding good judgment. Even though she hadn't really been the one who said it, Joyce was certain that Buffy's 'real' mother hadn't meant it the way it had come out. At that remark Buffy just smiled, and squeezed her hand reassuringly. "I know. I didn't get it at the time, but after mom died, and I was responsible for Dawn, I sorta found out the hard way how exasperating a teenager can be,"

"_Dawn_? Who's Dawn?"

"Uhm…yeah. I suppose I should have mentioned her earlier. Uh… she's my _sister_. Congratulation, Mrs. Summers, I'm pleased to announce that you are the proud parent of a 115 pound, five foot six inch, fifteen year old daughter. Actually, time travels faster there than it does here, so she'd be about 21 now, and probably closer to five-nine the way she was sprouting. Including her cleavage, damn her."

For what seemed like a long time, Joyce could only stare at her daughter, mouth open in shock, feeling as if she'd been punched in the stomach. They had both wanted more than one child, but the time had never been right, and all too quickly the time had passed. She had always regretted it. "You never mentioned a sister! You talked about those 'Scoobie' people, your _friends_; but you never once mentioned that you had a _sister_!"

Buffy scowled, knowing that she would have to be careful, but not wanting to lie. "I didn't mention her because she didn't matter! She was just my sister, an annoying whiny pest, not someone really _important_ like a friend… or casual acquaintance… or mortal enemy."

"You even told us about those stupid annoying nerd people! You told us about the other Slayer, what's her name; Kendra. But you never thought to mention that you had a _sister_?!?" Joyce didn't know why she was so upset, but for some reason she was horrified, and overcome by a strange feeling of guilt, to learn that 'she' had a daughter she didn't know about. But before Buffy could respond, Joyce shook her head in exasperation and a slightly hysterical urge to laugh bitterly. "This whole issue of 'alternate universes' is honestly going to drive me insane. I know that she isn't _really_ my daughter. My god, _you_ aren't _really_ my daughter…"

She paused at that point, surprised to find that she was about to cry, when she thought she'd shed her last tears on that subject. But it still hurt to know that 'Buffy' wasn't _truly_ her daughter, that the entire world now knew that 'her' daughter had been replaced by a doppelganger from another _universe_, a super-hero who had almost single-handedly quite literally saved the world. Nobody found the trade unfair, or had shed a single tear for Elizabeth, the lunatic pyromaniac confined to an insane asylum. No one except Elizabeth's mother, who understood, at least intellectually, that in a weird way Buffy was 'her's' too. But it wasn't the same. And nobody seemed to care, or understand the difference. Except, perhaps, Buffy herself, who moved over to the couch to sit beside her, and reached around to hug her mother tightly. "Mom, I think there's something you should know…"

The girl paused, obviously collecting her thoughts. "Do you remember going to Anaheim when I was like, eleven, to do the figure skating competition at Disneyland? And I fell, and sprained my ankle, and dad had to carry me back to the car, and we couldn't go on any rides even though you'd already paid for park admittance? So you took me out to dinner at that stupid kid's restaurant…"

Smiling in remembrance, Joyce came up with the name; "Julio's."

Her daughter nodded with a bit of a grin. "Yeah. And we argued if the 'j' sounded like a 'j' or like a 'y' because I didn't know any Spanish, and the owner came to the table and explained to me that he was Hispanic and pronounced it differently than an Anglo would, and brought us some Mexican food to show what his culture provided to the Melting Pot? Yeah, you remember. So do I.

"But the interesting thing is… none of that happened to Buffy."

Looking over at the girl in confusion, Joyce tried to get her mind around what she was implying, but couldn't quite manage to do it. So her daughter squeezed her again and continued. "When Buffy was Called as a Slayer, it did something to me… to Elizabeth. From that point on, Elizabeth was overwhelmed by the events happening on Buffy's world, by the intensity of Buffy's struggles. But up until then, my life was exactly the way you remember it. The way _I_ remember it. I've taken Buffy's name because her memories of the last seven years are mine now, her cause as well. For seven years I have effectively _been_ Buffy. But, in fact, I _am_ Elizabeth Summers. I _am_ the girl who grew up in your home. And you _are_ my mother. My _real_ mother."

Perhaps not surprisingly, after that revelation neither were in any shape to talk for quite some time, her mother wrapping her in a maternal embrace only slightly less intense than could be imposed by the crushing strength of a vampire. Both were crying, babbling reassuring noises which didn't make any sense, but conveyed all the meaning either required. They were mother and daughter.

And that was all that mattered.

-

Several days later, Buffy healing with inhuman speed, her mom tentatively brought up a subject she had been internally debating for some time. Despite their divorce, Hank was still Buffy's father, and had left a dozen messages on her answering machine demanding to know if Joyce had heard anything from their missing daughter. He was obviously concerned. Anyone who saw pictures of their kid being horrifically injured on television before their very eyes would be. He just wanted to meet with her to be certain that she was alright. No matter her own anger with her ex –perhaps _because_ of her own anger with her ex—Joyce did not feel it was her place to come between Hank and his daughter. She despised divorced parents who used their children as proxies in their own battles, and was determined not to become one of them.

She was a bit nervous about how Buffy would react. And yes, she did call her 'Buffy.' Her daughter hadn't been 'Elizabeth' in a long time, and was more comfortable with the name she had chosen. But her reaction also demonstrated quite clearly that her daughter really _was_ more 'Buffy' than 'Elizabeth' now. Her face went blank, and her eyes went hard, brows creased in anger, before almost instantly returning to her previous sunny expression. There had been hints that her daughter suspected Hank had had something to do with the initial attack on them. Without any proof, Joyce chose to believe that he would not have done something so disgraceful. But for all her sweetness and light, Buffy could be a _very_ dangerous person, and that predator did _not_ trust Hank.

For the most part they didn't discuss her father. During their conversations Buffy had brought up her mentor Giles enough times that Joyce got the message that so far as her daughter was concerned, Hank had been reduced to the category of 'sperm donor' and Giles was the paternal presence in her life. She didn't make a big production out of it. It wasn't like Buffy harbored some pathological hatred for her father. In truth, she seemed to have simply written him off. Apparently there had been enough problems in their relationship that she was no longer willing to leave herself emotionally vulnerable to any further disappointment. It hadn't gone so far that she was willing to cut him out of her life completely. But until he demonstrated that he could be trusted not to betray her again, she wasn't prepared to grant him the sort of automatic trust she would have given this Giles person.

It bothered Joyce to realize that her daughter was looking to someone else as her paternal figure. Not because she had a problem with any of the lessons he had taught Buffy; but because she was in no position to judge the moral basis he had used to reach the decisions he had passed on. She knew better than to overtly challenge him. Buffy's obvious respect and affection for the man made it clear that unless she had a _very_ specific objection to his advice, she would get nowhere attempting to come between her daughter and a man she clearly adored. But Joyce really wanted Buffy to have a better relationship with her father than the one they presently had, which, basically, was none. She knew she had no reason to feel guilty about breaking up their family, but she didn't want to feel like she hadn't done everything possible to save what could be recovered from the wreckage.

Without making it extremely obvious that she was simply indulging her mother, Buffy agreed to meet with her father. Joyce called him up to let him know, and the two of them got into her SUV, opened the garage door, and Buffy ducked down to hide from the few media people still camped out near her mom's house. They were followed for a bit, but it didn't take long to lose them in LA traffic, even without making any special effort to do so. Due to her concern about the upcoming meeting Joyce was unable to keep up her end of the conversation, but Buffy seemed content to comment on the changes in the city she hadn't seen in some time. She didn't seem nervous, or excited, or… _anything_ really, which served only to increase her mother's worry. The daughter she remembered would have been either so hyper about the reunion she would have been jumping in her seat, or so scared she'd have been clawing at the door handle. For all the emotional reaction Buffy showed, they could have been simply driving to the local mall.

The fact that she was 'Buffy,' and not the daughter she remembered, was not in itself enough to explain the change in attitude. Joyce had seen enough to understand that there wasn't much difference between the two girls. The big difference was in experience, and Joyce was inwardly cringing at the thought of how many times Buffy had been put through an emotional wringer before she was able to learn how to protect her vulnerable heart. She knew some of the things Buffy had gone through on her strange world… but only then did she realize that never once, in all their discussions, had Buffy brought up the reason she didn't trust Hank. Joyce hadn't been the only one who hadn't wanted to come between members of the family.

So she was getting pretty nervous as they approached Hank's new house, and positively cringed at the dozens of media trucks parked in front of it, satellite dishes extended, commentators giving live broadcasts from the front lawn. Joyce didn't even have to look over at her daughter. Swiftly turning into the next side-street, she gunned it, and turned down streets at random until she was certain nobody was following them. Only then did she work up the courage to look over at Buffy.

Her daughter was smiling at her. Hardly traumatized, she looked a bit wistful but not overly upset. Like she had expected it, and had long since made peace with what she had known they would find. "It's okay, mom."

Joyce couldn't speak. She was too furious, too enraged to put her feelings into words. Her hands were clenched into claws, and if she'd had her daughters' strength, the steering wheel would be a mangled mess. From Buffy's sympathetic expression, things weren't going to get a whole lot better. "I haven't told you what happened after they took me away. I don't _want_ to tell you. But it's something you're going to have to know, because some day it will get out and I don't want it to blind-side you. Ah… you might want to find a park or something where we can have a bit of privacy. You don't want to be driving when you hear this. You're not going to like it.

"And if you have any questions you've been holding back, I'll tell you anything you want to know about my life in Sunnydale… because after we're done, I'm going to have to leave. They know I'm here now, and I still don't want to talk to them. After I tell you the whole story, you'll know why…"


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

Return To Normal

**Chapter Five**

**- **

Dawn was a bit reluctant to go looking for Faith. Not because she had any problems with Faith –her fake memories insisted that Faith had been pretty cool, at first, until she went completely postal and tried to kill her and her mom—but because doing so would warn the First that she wasn't simply sulking but was seriously investigating what she had convinced everyone were the persecuted delusions of an upset child. So far, it appeared that Buffy had been correct when during her visit she had suggested that if she wasn't around to remind the First that she was actually the Key, the spell would make even it forget what she really was. For now the First had simply dismissed her as a whiny sister having a snit. If she went looking for Faith, the First would start wondering why.

Teaming up with the Dark Slayer would not endear herself to the few Ronin who had begun trickling in either. The confrontation leading to her excommunication from Slayer Central was the stuff of legend, leaving behind mangled bodies and deep resentments. Anyone seeking out Faith automatically put themselves beyond the pale, so far as most slayers were concerned. Not even the Ronin had dared seek out Faith, just in case there was some truth to the rumors.

It hadn't started out that way. Faith herself was larger than life; the vicious killer who had sought redemption by returning to Sunnydale to help them face down the First. For a time she had even led them, during a period most slayers euphemistically referred to as 'the Interlude,' when they had turned against The Great Buffy Summers in a betrayal placed up there with Judas turning on Jesus, if not quite on the level of Anakin joining the Dark Side, or Hulk Hogan signing up with the NWO. When Buffy returned after Faith led them into a disastrous ambush, she proved her right to lead them by bailing the survivors out, and Faith was pushed aside like a guilty secret. Since nobody dared blame Buffy for the mutiny, it was sort of intimated that Faith's jealousy had caused her to began a whisper campaign against Buffy, even though every surviving slayer who had been there denied it. No matter; Faith was designated the slayers official Judas, and the harder she tried to fit in, the more she was pushed aside.

Somehow, mostly by staying far away from Cleveland, Faith had managed to remain employed by Slayers Inc for several years, locating and recruiting newbie slayers in Eastern Europe and the Far East. Typically she worked alone, or with one or two girls who had just graduated and needed some final polish before heading out on missions of their own. Things were fine until she was recalled, and found out how much her reputation had changed since her last visit. It did not sit well with her. Not surprisingly, given the fact that it was Faith they were dealing with, the final confrontation was emotional, violent, and permanent. Someone had made one catty remark too many and Faith decked her. Her friends had gang-tackled Faith, who fought back until she was literally beaten into submission. Faith had demanded that Buffy do something about the situation.

Buffy had agreed that something needed to be done. Her voice just dripping with regret, Buffy told them that Faith was disruptive, manipulative, and a threat to what they were trying to achieve by working together at Slayers Inc. Furious –now there was a surprise—Faith had responded by accusing Buffy of becoming a power-mad demagogue, exploiting the junior slayers for her own financial benefit. Buffy shouted back, the argument escalated into bringing up all the old issues, someone –okay, _Faith_—threw a punch, and when it was over Faith's battered body was unceremoniously tossed out of the compound with orders never to return.

She never did. Taking her share of the money a major studio had paid for rights to the story of the final days of Sunnydale, Faith bought herself a motorcycle and left Ohio for good. A few of her friends had tried to keep in contact with her via email, but they were 'outed' by Willow and ostracized by the other slayers until everyone got the message and broke contact. She earned some spending money by taking odd jobs –usually from rather 'odd' characters—who were having problems with vampires, demons, or just plain assholes. Every so often her path would cross those of other slayers, where more often than not they would attack her, but only when they had three to one odds or better. She started drinking –her memories of childhood were too fresh for her to ever take drugs—and slept with a lot of people she would have done well to stay away from, and even Faith knew she was on a downward slide with only one destination. But there didn't seem to be anything she could do to stop it. It wasn't paranoia if they really _were_ out to get you, and they were beating her down. She was just so tired of it all. Tired of getting screwed over, tired of having to fight and claw for scraps, tired of failure.

Faith was probably the only one who didn't notice Dawn when she entered the bar, but she certainly noticed the reaction among the other patrons. Usually Faith was the one who created consternation whenever she entered a bar, her body and walk sending out sexual vibes no hetero male less than three months dead could ignore. But she'd been in this one a few times and had demonstrated pretty conclusively that she could take care of herself should any drunk-beyond-rationality lothario decide to try gracing her with his affections. The newcomer might not be, and from the reaction Faith could tell she was pretty hot, enough so that the boys stopped their pathetic drooling over Faith herself. Curiosity made her look up from the table, back towards the entrance, to where the girl was standing. Xander, behind and to her left, looked a bit nervous as he surveyed the clientele, but Faith didn't have the slightest doubt that if it came down to it, the boy would pull a sawed-off shotgun or something equally deadly out of his rectum and lay down the law. He was escorting Royalty, and wouldn't be afraid to get his hands dirty to protect it.

Little Sister had grown up, in more ways than one. It had been years since they last saw each other, and Dawn had only gotten taller and more beautiful. But more than that, there was a look in her eye, a no-bullshit self-confidence Faith didn't recall seeing the last time they were together, when she had still been desperately seeking attention and approval from a big sister who always seemed to have more important things to do. Somewhere along the line, Dawn had stopped looking for Buffy's approval, and found the kind of inner strength which didn't need external acknowledgement. Even the way she was looking at Faith was different. No longer excited by her larger-than-life image, no longer angry at her for fucking with her sister and her boy-toy: this girl was studying Faith with the clear-eyed, intelligent gaze of a professional gambler. Whatever had happened to cause her very public fall-out with Buffy, Faith was all for it. She liked the change she saw.

Without asking Dawn came forward and sat down across the small table, while Xander moved to the far side of the table where he could keep an eye on the other people in the bar. He needn't have bothered; once they saw where she was going, everybody pretty much lost interest in Dawn, except for the inevitable furtive lustful glance. Faith had been rather firm in her lessons the last time they got out of line, as the occasional fading contusion on more than a few faces demonstrated. "Hi Dawnie. Long time no see."

She was actually happy to see a reasonably friendly face. It had been a long time, and Dawn had probably been the last 'friendly face' she had seen as well. Which soundly maudlinly pathetic, but didn't mean it wasn't true. Faith had never had any real friends among the Scoobies. Whatever her relationship with Buffy might have entailed, they had never really been 'friends.' Faith was fully aware that it wasn't really 'her' Dawn had once looked up to, but an idealized, independent rebel she naively saw her as. When Faith's self-destructive spiral had culminated in her taking both Mrs. Summers and Dawn hostage that delusion had been put to rest. Despite that, when Faith came back to Sunnydale to assist in the final confrontation with the First, Dawn had at least been willing to give her a chance, something Faith appreciated even more now than she had at the time. Because there was something in her eye which made Faith think that Dawn was about to give her _another_ chance. Given Faith's desperate state, likely her _last_ chance.

"Faith. You've looked… better." Usually, when people studied Faith that closely, it was because they were trying to figure out how to get into her pants. But every so often she ran into someone who looked at her differently, assessing something the average person didn't see, somehow able to take the measure of her inner self and not be distracted by the pretty packaging. Usually it meant they were interested in hiring her for a job. Invariably they were the most interesting jobs. People who hired her for the more mundane stuff didn't need to put as much effort into studying her as Dawn was doing.

After a long minute, Dawn appeared satisfied with what she saw. "Still, you're looking better than I expected. Given how thorough I know her to be, I'd expect that Buffy warned anyone trying to hire you that Slayers Inc would take a dim view of it. I figured you'd be pretty desperate by now."

Faith smirked, hiding an inner twinge of anger and bitterness, but inwardly surprised Dawn couldn't see the desperation. She was evidently a better actress than she thought. "Not everyone bends over and spreads when The Great Buffy Summers orders them to assume the position, Dawnie."

It was meant to be a cutting remark, but the taller girl simply shrugged. "Actually, in my experience, most people _do_. And if they don't, she makes them wish they _had_."

Since Faith had to admit that was an unassailable fact, she decided to poke around a bit. Desperate or not, she was still Faith. "You should know; even out here in the sticks we're hearing about you bailing over the whole lesbo-slash-orgy thing with Willow and Big Sis."

Not surprisingly, her words got a reaction. The anger in Dawn's eyes was unmistakable, and had Faith not been a Slayer and more than capable of dealing with any violence the taller girl might try to unleash she'd have been a bit worried. But she was, and could, so wasn't. But Dawn had come to see her, putting the onus on her not to get into a pissing match, and she quickly got control over herself. "Actually, that 'thing' with Willow just confirmed something I had already suspected. Something I'm told you were wondering about as well. I really don't give a damn if she wants to have 'lesbo orgies,' or regular orgies, or orgies with a herd of fucking goats. My problem is that the only purpose of those things was to screw with Willow's mind even more than it already is. Willow is an incredibly powerful witch, who has serious protective spells preventing anyone from messing with her, mentally or physically. I think even something as powerful as the First would have a tough time fucking with her the way it can with most people. But there are other ways. Some of the things they do at those parties are beyond warped. And every one of them seem to be deliberately designed to mess with Willow's head. Now why would _Buffy_ want to do that?"

Nobody needed to answer the question. _Buffy_ wouldn't. But the _First_ would, given Willow's immense power and formidable mental defenses. Which meant, Faith suddenly realized, that Dawn believed they actually _were_ dealing with the First. Implying that Dawn, who was a lot closer to Buffy than Faith, and a whole lot smarter than Faith, had concluded that her sister was dead. The same conclusion she obviously suspected Faith had arrived at as well. What Dawn didn't realize was that Faith had never really _believed_ her angry claim that Buffy had died during the final battle. Oh, she'd _suggested_ it, brought up a few disconnected facts and a ton of assumptions to create a wildly-unlikely conclusion. But she'd never really, honestly _believed_ that the First had won. If there was one lesson she had learned, it was that Buffy _always_ won. To hear Dawn going on as if that ridiculous conclusion was in fact true threw Faith into a moment of horrified confusion, her mind refusing to believe it, everything in her wanting to reject it. Whatever the complexities of her relationship with Buffy, in many ways that relationship was central to Faith's existence. Everything she had ever done was assessed in contrast to Buffy and her invariably greater accomplishments. Nothing she was or did had ever been looked upon as anything but a reflection of Buffy.

What made it worse was that Faith _understood_ why everyone compared her to the little blonde. She even did the same thing herself. Even she could see that she fell short, but it bothered her a bit that no one ever judged her on the basis of her own situation and abilities, took into account her own struggles. Making it even worse was her own feelings for Buffy, her own desperate attempts to get her attention, her own spectacular failures in judgment due to that effort. She, more than anyone, understood why Dawn had turned into a whiny klepto when she couldn't get her sister to pay any attention to her. Faith had gone to even more extreme measures, and the attention she finally received was _not_ the sort she had sought to attain. For a few minutes she had Buffy's full and undivided attention, yet that didn't make Buffy see her differently than she had when Faith had only been an afterthought, far down her list of priorities after Angel, her sister, her mom, the Scoobies, some random twit who didn't know enough to stay out of a friggin' cemetery in Sunnydale of all places, newborn aardvarks at the San Diego Zoo… By that point it had been too later to say 'Sorry,' to claim that it had merely been a desperate attempt to get Buffy to notice her. But that didn't change the fact that 'Faith' had never been a real person, not even to herself. She was just a reflection of Buffy, an imperfect image, never real, never unique unto herself.

So to have someone almost casually state that the central pillar of her existence was dead came as quite a shock. Faith had no idea how to react. Happy, that her nemesis was finally gone? Triumphant that she had 'won' simply by outliving her? Horribly, completely, utterly _crushed_ that they would never have the opportunity to put their past behind them and find out what else they meant to each other? For too long she'd survived on anger and tears and hope… and suddenly all were gone. Because if Dawn of all people believed that her sister was dead, then who was Faith to tell her different? Especially since, deep down, Faith had always known that the sadistic bitch in charge of Slayers Inc wasn't Buffy Summers. She just didn't have that special spark which made even her bitterest enemy wish things might have been different between them. Because Buffy had been… _magic_. Oh, no question that she was smarter, and stronger, and deadlier than Buffy had ever been. But there wasn't that spark of 'something extra' which had made her _special_, elevated her from the 'merely good' to the 'truly great.'

Carefully watching the play of emotions visible on Faith's face, Dawn remained silent, understanding what the other girl was going through, sympathizing with her pain, knowing that whatever contest Faith might have been playing with her when she first sat down at the table, Dawn had just won. So she dropped it. "In some ways, it's a relief to know that the First has to work so hard to manipulate Willow. That means it needs Willow for something, which in turn means it isn't 'all powerful.' The damned thing _does_ have limits. Personally, I'd be very interested in finding out what they are, and what it needs Willow to do. Because it sure seems like it is trying real hard to turn her into 'Dark Willow.' Whatever it needs doing isn't going to be something she would do if she wasn't all warped and vein-y."

Although she knew Dawn wasn't just trying to distract her –in fact, the talk about the First's motivations and Willow's abilities was probably the reason Dawn had sought her out in the first place—Faith wasn't ready to give up on her bitter funk. Likely wouldn't be ready to talk business for some time. Taking a long drink of whatever the hell it was she had in front of her, Faith felt the alcohol burn as it went down her throat, hating herself for the need for chemical solace. She'd seen what it did to people, and considering how much she'd fucked up her life even without it, Faith knew damned well she was dead meat if she turned to artificial sustenance every time things went south. After the example of her parental units, she would rather face even the horrors of her life rather than face _that_. But this one _hurt_. This was the end of a lot of dreams. And for now, just this once, she didn't want to face it, no matter what it would cost afterwards.

Surprisingly, Dawn seemed to understand. Soon even Xander sat down with them, the other two nursing their own drinks while Faith deliberately set out to get tanked. They didn't talk much, but somehow the silence was more comfortable than any of them might have expected. Had they not been there, Faith probably wouldn't have felt safe enough to get drunk. But maybe not, so it was just as well they were around to make sure nothing happened. Not that anyone was likely to take advantage of even a drunk slayer. It would have been unfortunate if Faith had lashed out while drunk and killed a few dozen people however, especially since it appeared they needed her for something. It wasn't hard for even her alcohol-fogged mind to figure out what. There were plenty of slayers out there, but Faith was the only one with the motivation and the experience to help them if they wanted to go after the First.

She turned out to be a maudlin drunk. To a girl like Faith, her behavior while under the influence of alcohol would have been so humiliating she would not have tolerated the loss of control even if she didn't have other reasons to dislike the other long-term results. It wasn't compatible with the image she had of herself, or wanted other people to have of her. It was rather difficult to come across as a total badass when she couldn't hide the emotional devastation from her voice, from her eyes, from herself. Telling stories of her interactions with Buffy, almost all of them ending badly, her voice increasingly sloshed, increasingly despondent. Faith didn't really tell anything her companions didn't already know about or strongly suspect. The frustration and jealousy and envy which made her do stupid things in a desperate cry for attention. The hopeless attraction she was incapable of expressing in a way which might have permitted it to be returned.

If she hadn't been so disgusted with her own actions Xander would have been tempted to bitch-slap her over the reminders of events he'd much rather forget. She obviously knew just how badly she'd screwed up, even knew when she'd done it that she was doing the wrong thing, but couldn't see any other option. It took a lot of restraint on Xander's part not to throw out the fact that it wasn't _that_ hard to make a decision not to _murder_ someone, no matter how 'trapped' you felt by circumstances, but he managed to remain silent. She had confessed, and gone to prison, served her debt to society for her crimes, and had gone back to Sunnydale to help out when it really counted. More importantly, she _acknowledged_ her crimes. Unlike too many whiny kids who felt that they were being picked on because they 'hadn't meant to' do whatever stupid thing they did, Faith never once denied her culpability. The guilt would haunt her for the rest of her life.

As it should.

"Did either of you ever see the First? Not when it was pretendin' to be Buffy. When it was no-shit fuckin' with your head as the _First_?"

Both of them shook their heads, Xander sighing inside a bit, knowing he hadn't been important enough for the First to make the effort. Then suddenly recalling Dawn suggesting that Caleb took his eye because the First was angry that he was 'the one who saw.' He had seen Buffy many times after she was taken over by the First and he had never realized there was anything wrong, so suddenly wondered what it was the First was afraid he might 'see.' He put that thought on the back-burner when Faith continued speaking, her words a bit slurred, but her meaning clear. "It came to me, as the Mayor. I know he was a fuckin' monster, but evil bastard or not, he was the closest thing I've ever had to a father. Giles sure as hell didn't want the job…" She stopped there. Old resentments die hard, even when you know they are unfair. Giles already had a 'daughter,' and he had every reason to believe the 'spare' would get her own Watcher soon enough. The way he saw it, building an emotional rapport wouldn't have been fair to the new Watcher.

When it looked like Dawn might say something, Faith waved her to silence. "I know, I know. The point is; I really loved that miserable bastard. Only man I've ever met who looked at me as more than a fuck toy. Including my own fath…" She suddenly stopped speaking, swallowing some of whatever it was she was drinking, before she continued. "He told me that nobody would ever love me like he did. That… _she_… would never love me. All the shit I'd done, all the crap that happened to me, and _that's_ what the fucking _First Evil_ uses to mess with my head. The fucking obvious and in no way important fact that _Buffy Summers_ would _never_ fucking love_ me_ the way I lo…" Realizing she was shouting, and tears were streaming down her face, Faith abruptly shut up, wiping the tears away angrily, drinking some more, liquid courage she already knew was useless and counter-productive. But drinking it anyway, because she was dying inside.

One more reason, among a billion others, why she didn't drink alcohol.

Both Dawn and Xander remained silent, both realizing the implications of Faith's bitter tirade, neither wanting to say anything until they had time to discuss it. The last thing they needed was to say something wrong, at a time when Faith was so vulnerable. Not when they needed her help. Somewhere in her alcohol-sodden brain Faith realized she had said too much, and didn't speak again. Staggering from the bar a short time later, she was able to make her own way to the motel she had been staying at, and even noticed that Dawn and Xander were not sharing the same room. But aside from a raised eyebrow, her assumptions remaining unspoken, she let it pass, merely entering her own room without another word and collapsing onto her bed. Despite the unaccustomed alcohol flushing her system, it took her a long time to fall asleep. When she did, her dreams were not pleasant.

But then again, her dreams rarely were.

-

"Why come to me?"

"Duh. Hello, slayer? Neither Xander nor I have special powers. We need someone who can help us if she sends some of her girls to bring me back. Plus, you were closer than any of us to Angel's group in LA, and we were hoping you might know what happened to them."

Grunting noncommittally, Faith cursed her propensity for horrific hangovers. She was a maudlin drunk who puked all night and got killer hangovers the next morning; it was no wonder she wasn't much of a drinker. "Most of them bought it during Dead Boy's showdown with the Senior Partners. Gotta give the Big Guy credit; I never thought he would try to take down Wolfram & Hart from the inside. Figured they'd corrupt him the way they did everything else they touched. I underestimated him. Wish I'd been there to see it play out, but maybe it's just as well. The price they paid was pretty high. He didn't survive the final battle. Cordie went a few months earlier, Gunn and Wes died with Angel. I heard that Spike made it out, but I never saw him afterwards. Saw Illyria though. Dunno if you even know her…"

When she looked up at Dawn questioningly, Dawn nodded. "Old One who took over Fred's body. Super-powered at one point, but they 'neutered' her somehow." Privately, Dawn was delighted to hear that Spike had survived yet another massacre. She had always been far closer to him than Angel, and the summer he'd taken care of her while Buffy had been dead had built a deep bond between them. They had heard he'd somehow been brought back after dying in the Hellmouth, but he'd never tried to contact them. Given his relationship with Buffy, she wondered if his silence had been deliberate, if he knew something about what had really happened during those final minutes when the two of them were the only people left under Sunnydale.

Rubbing her bloodshot eyes, Faith thought about getting a cigarette, but knew it would taste like shit with all the crap already polluting her mouth. Another problem with booze… it felt like something from Sunnydale's sewers had crawled into her mouth last night and taken a dump on her tongue. She had morning breath from hell. "Angel used something called a 'Mutari Generator' to control her powers, which were too much for her human form to handle. But she's still pretty powerful. Could kick my ass, anyway. She's bat-shit fuckin' crazy, but would be a good ally to have at your back when things hit the fan. Problem is only Wesley had much influence over her. Not sure if she'd cover your back without Wes asking her to. With him and Angel dead she got Spike out of LA but bailed afterwards. No idea where she went."

Nodding, Dawn paused to think things through before speaking. "We'll need to find her. If she's really an Old One she'll know more about the First than any of us. Maybe even know how to fight it."

Faith grunted at that remark, raising bloodshot eyes to scowl at the younger girl. "Illyria couldn't fight the First when she was at the top of her game, when she had like a zillion worshippers and more powers than Willow could dream of. Rumor is, the First was the one who slapped _her _down way back when. Get it through your head, Dawnie; the First is _fucking powerful_! Your sister was better at fighting the Big Nasties than either of us, and the First handed _her_ her ass. Don't even _think _of trying to fight it. You'll lose."

Meeting her eyes steadily, Dawn chose her words carefully, knowing she could lose a powerful ally if she said the wrong thing. "The First, _as the First_, might be unbeatable; but it's _human _now. It needed a human body to do whatever it wants to do next. It needed to _actually become corporeal _to do it. And just like your friend Illyria, it now has to deal with human weaknesses and human limitations. Which means we _can_ fight it. And we _can_ beat it."

Faith's reaction was almost instantaneous. Her eyes were suddenly more focused, more intense. No longer a despondent drunk, she was suddenly a Slayer. One who was suddenly smelling prey. "You mean we can _kill _it."

"_No_!" Mentally kicking herself, Dawn belatedly realized how Faith would automatically interpret her words. Her actions last night had made Dawn forget just how dangerous Faith could be. It was a mistake she dare not repeat. "The Slayer line runs through _her_ now, not you. Willow did it when she brought Buffy back. If you kill her, the First will just go along with the slayer aspect into the next girl who is Called. And so on. That's why it waited for someone like Buffy… someone who had died so it could assume her body, since for some reason it could only assume the aspect of someone who was either dead or who had died and been revived, but possessing the Slayer line so it didn't have to worry about its plans falling apart if anything happened to its fragile human shell. Killing Buffy's body won't help us. I think we can assume it has taken measures to ensure that it will quickly regain its powerbase no matter who the next host body belongs to. At least right now we know who it is, and what its doing. So, for now, that mean we can't kill it.

"At least, until we no longer have any reason _not_ to not kill it."

Frowning, Faith made a supreme effort to suppress her bloodlust, her instinctive urge to annihilate that which was defiling Buffy's body. She hadn't thought about the whole 'Slayer Line' thing, except in some nebulous way to assume it went through her… after all, when Buffy died closing Glory's portal, no new slayer had been Called. But with every Potential receiving slayer powers soon after she began menstruating nowadays it hadn't seemed like there was any 'Line' anymore regardless of who it went through. As usual, she hadn't thought things through… which was one of the many reasons she'd failed as a slayer. Buffy had been smart enough to recognize a similar limitation and surrounded herself with really smart people, who thought things through for her before she went off half-cocked. Without a decent Watcher, or any close friends, Faith had never been able to overcome that liability. Looking over at Dawn, who she already knew was smarter than hell, --maybe Willow-smart, and better yet, apparently not half as fucked up as the witch-- Faith there and then decided this was a problem she would overcome effective immediately. "So what do you want me to do?"

Dawn smiled. The Resistance had just gained its first recruit. And whether they liked it or not, the Ronin had just gained a leader.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

Return To Normal

--

**Chapter Six**

**-- **

'_Faith Lehane, is insane_!'

She heard the refrain a lot growing up. Believed it, even, because it was true. She _was_ pretty crazy. Bat-shit fucking insane, some of the time. Given the crap that happened at home, it was only to be expected. You don't fuck a kid over that badly for that long and expect them to come out of it anywhere close to 'normal.' Under the circumstances, Faith figured she had done pretty good. She didn't drink, at least not often, or takes drugs, or at least not the hard kind. Okay, she smoked sometimes, and screwed more people than she should, but given what she had been provided in the way of examples for adult role models, she was doing okay. She had a job, and her own place, and wasn't dead in a gutter somewhere…

But, if she listened hard enough, she could still hear the other kids taunting her. '_Faith Lehane, is insane_!' At the time it had driven her fucking nuts, the way they had ganged up and hurled the words at her, as if the crap going on in her life and all that had happened to her was her fault. As if the clothes she wore or the food she ate were what she wanted, and not what she had been able to scrounge for herself when her parents were too far gone into drug-induced bliss to care that their daughter was trying to go to school, trying to learn something besides the sort of fucked-up shit they were teaching her, trying to pretend that she might be able to escape the sort of living hell they had made of their lives, and hers. But she was too different, too poor, too defensive, too anti-social; and the taunting never let up. She grew tough and hard and bitter, and by grade eight had given up on hoping that the education system might provide a way out. For years she had been determined to show them they couldn't force her out, that she was too tough to quit, that she could succeed despite them… but the taunting never ended, there were no words of encouragement from officials or family who just didn't care, and eventually she had just had enough of it.

Of course she pretended that she didn't care either. That she didn't need anyone, that she didn't need an education, that she considered them all saps for staying in school when she could use her body or her street-smarts to make some money, to be the master of her own destiny, to find a way out that wasn't dependant on school officials or the fucked-up bureaucracy of the fucked-up system. But even outside of school, even though the damned school made it real clear they didn't want her back, the 'system' did everything in its power to fuck her over. No matter how fucked up her mother and 'step father' were, they wouldn't let her get away from them. She was too young to be allowed to have a job, but any money from the state went to her mother, who immediately shot it or snorted it or drank it. She quickly learned that those people who were supposed to help her were the most dangerous, the most twisted, the worst of the predators. She did what she had to in order to survive, but it was as if the system was designed to ensure people like her didn't survive, that they gave up and started the long slow process of committing some form of chemically-assisted suicide. It was a miracle that she had survived at all.

A miracle named Buffy Summers.

It still amazed her that after all the crap she had gone through, all the things she needed to do in order to survive, would have all come to nothing had not a stranger suddenly appeared out of the shadows one dark night. A beautiful stranger –blonde, perky, short; small boobs-- not the sort of girl Faith normally found attractive, more like the _antithesis_ of everything she found attractive in fact… the very _personification_ of the kind of people she most hated, the kind of person most likely to look down on her and treat her like _dirt_-- okay, that train of thought had kind of derailed… but despite the way she looked, there had been something more to Buffy. Not just her amazing physical abilities, but a look in her eye, a hardness in her demeanor, which suggested she wasn't quite the pampered Princess she appeared to be. That she had seen and done things only someone like Faith, who had both been there and done that, would understand. Someone who understood that life well and truly _sucked_, but it marginally beat the alternative, so you did what you had to do just to survive another day, hoping that the next one might suck just a little bit less.

Even Faith knew that she was obsessing over the small blonde. It wasn't like she was the first person Faith had ever met who had learned the hard way about life's less pleasant aspects. But there was an obvious difference. Most of the other people she had known who, like her, were at the bottom of the social order had gone into weird crap to escape it; the goth scene, drugs, crime, any bizarre shit that got them away from a 'real world' which didn't want them and was doing its best to beat them down and keep them there. Despite a look in her eyes which made it pretty clear she had seen depths of human misery that was the equal of any of the fucked up shit any of the others had trolled, Buffy still looked and acted like she was a part of mainstream civilization. Even her name was a statement. There were no 'Buffy's' in goth-dom.

If Buffy had somehow made a life for herself in the real world despite seeing the bottom, Faith figured she had a chance at making it as well. She'd never known anyone who had made it before Buffy barged into her life, but just knowing it was actually _possible_ made a big difference. So she took the opportunity Buffy had presented her and grabbed it with both hands, getting the fuck out of Boston the same day, planning ahead, thinking things through for once in her life, knowing she would never get another chance and desperate not to fuck this one up. Desperate to prove to Buffy –and prove to herself—that whatever Buffy saw in her which had made her want to give her a chance was justified, that she could make something of herself, that she was better than the garbage heap she came from and seemed destined to die in.

And, for the most part, she had succeeded. Knowing from painful personal experience that being underage meant she had no rights, her first objective was to score some good fake ID's. They had cost her far too much of Buffy's money, and even then she'd had to blow the sonuvabitch to get them. But the work was good, good enough to pass all of the standard tests. She didn't get too ambitious, getting a job bagging groceries when she first got to Denver, sleeping on a bunk at the 'Y,' opening a bank account and lying low. She didn't scream at random or cut herself like she used to, even though sometimes the pressure inside her head still needed some kind of outlet before she went fucking postal. She had always been pretty athletic and started running, exhausting herself, sometimes meeting up with cute guys on the jogging trail. One of them offered her a job. A real job, not the prostitute kind the others had offered in one form or another.

After cutting back on the makeup and buying some better clothes she accepted his offer, going to work as a waitress at a local club, where she earned more in tips most nights than she did in a week at the grocery. She was sexy as hell and knew how to work it, so became pretty popular, enough so that her jogging buddy offered her a chance to work behind the bar a few weeks later when the regular guy quit. Both of them were stunned at how good she was at it. Despite her grade eight education, Faith could take the orders for ten drinks, mix them all, charge the right price for each one and make correct change on the fly, all in her head. Not being a drinker she wasn't familiar with most of the weird concoctions people ordered, but she only had to be shown once and never forgot again.

Two months after being given a chance to make something of herself, Faith realized to her own shocked amazement that she actually _had_ made something of herself. With some money in the bank she got her own apartment and started buying her own furniture. A month later she was living under better conditions, eating better, and enjoying better social standing than she had ever known in her entire life. But she realized that she was just marking time, unconsciously just waiting for Buffy to come for her. It was weird. She'd never been obsessed with anyone like she was with the tiny blonde girl, but she didn't even try to deny to herself that she fucking worshipped the ground Buffy walked on. After all the crap in her life Faith couldn't find it in herself to have any faith in a God who had obviously abandoned her, and if He thought He was getting all the credit for Buffy saving her ass, well, He had another think coming. Faith knew who deserved all the credit for getting her away from her own personal Hell, and if anyone deserved to be worshipped, it was her own personal pint-sized savior.

---

It sort of bothered her that so much time had passed without Buffy contacting her, but it wasn't like she was sitting at home pining over her, doing nothing but waiting for her to call. She'd made a life for herself, gone out with a few guys, even fucked a couple of them. But that was how she felt about the act; she had _fucked_ them, scratched a physiological itch. It had been sex, with no more intimacy than the rutting of livestock. There had been more genuine emotion in the quick kiss she had given Buffy than there had ever been in the physical act she had participated in simply to relieve her sexual tension. Although she was bothered by the lack of contact with Buffy, she understood it, and even expected it might last awhile. The look in Buffy's face when she had told Faith she had her own problems had been telling.

After waiting in line one too many times to use the machines at the library, Faith had even broken down and purchased a used computer to search the Web for anything on her _object de lust_, coming across the State Security posters which had later disappeared. There was a time when she would have sold out anyone she had ever known for a small fraction of the reward they were offering for information on Buffy. She never even considered it in this case. But it did confirm that whatever she was involved in, Buffy hadn't lied to her about having some serious enemies.

One day she was watching TV when suddenly every channel was showing the President arriving at Colorado Springs. Faith just about blew a gasket when they pre-empting the rerun of 'Veronica Mars' she had wanted to see. One of the few signs that modern civilization wasn't doomed was that a brilliant show like 'Veronica Mars' was watched by millions, near the top of the Neilson ratings, unlike retarded crap such as 'Ghost Whisperer' which appealed solely to the 'Under 50 IQ Points' demographic,' watched by a few people in their Rest Home as they imagined 'Crossing Over' snuggled up to Jennifer Love Hewitt's magnificent rack. She didn't give a rat's ass about the President even when he wasn't interrupting her television viewing pleasure, but when he started talking about _aliens_ even she stopped bitching. Not many things were more important than 'Veronica Mars' reruns, but interstellar war was one of those things. Just barely maybe, but it met the criteria.

And then she saw her. _Buffy_. Kicking ass and taking names. The fucking _President_ saying she had saved the world, and then doing it again on live fucking television. Back in her Boston hell-hole Faith had seen some serious shit, but nothing like the Buffinator ripping the head off a ten-foot-tall demon made of living rock, live and in color. Damn it was amazing! The commentators were practically having an orgasm. Once it was over, Faith obsessively read newspapers, watched the news, searched out the internet for everything she could find Buffy-related, and it was pretty apparent she wasn't the only one. The sheer volume of coverage was intimidating. Buffy's mother couldn't leave her house without being mobbed by reporters. Her best friend, a dyke named Willow Rosenberg –Faith frowned when she heard about Rosenberg's sexual orientation, and wondered if she had a relationship with Buffy, and knew she was jealous as hell about even the possibility—was ensconced in Cheyenne Mountain, untouchable after the one press conference they had forced her to attend. The press camped out in front of Rosenberg's new house –an old fixer-upper that Faith figured needed one helluva lot of fixer-upping before most people would consider it habitable—hoping to hear from Rosenberg's partner –Faith perked up and almost hamster-danced hearing that Rosenberg was taken—but the girl was barricaded inside and wouldn't come out.

Finally it was reported that she had been sighted in Los Angeles with her mother. Faith was pretty impressed with the way her mom handled the media scrum which followed, but not so impressed with the way Buffy's 'estranged' father claimed he would be acting as her agent and demanded that all media inquiries submit their financial proposals to him. Faith had a pretty good idea how that would go over with Buffy, and hoped like hell she didn't end up having to be the one to tell her that the douche bag was trying to pimp her out. Still, the media frenzy was amazing to watch. Even the SGC dudes, who did some serious 'save the world' shit in their own right, almost always turned every story into another excuse to showcase Buffy's talents. The media indulged them because they were more interested in Buffy anyway. Buffy was young and pretty and not so intimidating with multi-barreled PhD's or sheer creepy 'fuck-with-me-and-I'll-kill-you' glares like the SG-1 crew had, so if the SGC wanted to them to concentrate on Buffy, the media was happy to play along. Two weeks after the attempted alien invasion, about the only thing most people remembered about it was that Buffy Summers was there to take care of it, and had looked damned hot doing it.

---

There was nothing unusual about going to work that night. No signs in the heavens, no psychic warnings. Just another day, another tight white shirt over a pushup bra, emphasize the goodies to increase the tips, check out the rear-view to ensure the leathers were accentuating what was there to be accentuated, get on the bike and ride to work, just like she did four nights a week. Nothing unusual about the ride, greet the usual co-workers, set up the usual bottles, clean the usual glasses, count the usual float. The next few hours were pretty standard as well; loud music, bouncing lights, lots of strange concoctions mixed for lots of strange people. Smile at everyone, laugh at the appropriate place even if you didn't understand the joke, flirt with everyone, man or woman, but never let it go further than that with a customer, enjoy the lights and the sounds and the beat and the sensuality of the place, despite her feeling apart from the crowd even when she was a part of the crowd.

There was a Rap Artiste performing. Faith tried not to cringe. As always, she wanted to go up and politely explain to them that they _sucked_. It didn't matter what their mom told them, or the people they paid to promote them told them; they _sucked_. It was a cultural thing. If you were a white guy trying to rap, and your name wasn't Eminem, you _sucked, _by definintion. You did not have 'street cred' because you did a few months in minimum security for tax evasion. You were a poseur; a pathetic bitch who would crap yourself if you ever came face to face with a _real_ rapper. Rap was channeled rage; anger given voice over a hot jungle beat. Overhearing the sanitized bastardization of true rap blaring over the sound system, Faith wanted to gouge out her ear drums with an ice pick. But she didn't, because that wasn't what 'normal' people did, and she reminded herself she was pretending to be someone 'normal.' That, in her own way, she was as much a poseur as the ridiculously attired wigger on stage.

She was distracted from her musings by one of the servers. Someone wanted to talk to her. Nothing unusual; she was hot and her voice was low and smoky and people liked listening to her almost as much as they liked looking at her. But what this guy said next wasn't usual. He said someone claimed to know her. Someone from Boston. At first she was afraid, quickly looking up, fearfully searching for one of Rutherford's goons, knowing she shouldn't have kicked him in the balls like that but damn, it had been _sweeeet_… but it wasn't an unkempt Russian Mafiosi who captured her attention. For a second she didn't even know who it was, just that she was beautiful, and tiny, and looked so young she should be wearing two giant neon signs saying 'Jail' and 'Bait' in flashing red letters over each shoulder so that nobody did anything stupid. Because a lot of people would want to do something stupid, given that she was wearing a skin-tight, backless, shimmering little sequined dress on her tight little body, and 'fuck-me' pumps on her dainty feet, and was beautiful, and hot, and looked ready to party…

For a second she wondered how Edgar could have ever allowed someone so young into the club, until her lingering glance worked its way up the slinky body and finally reached her eyes. Green eyes. Sad, and tired, and far, far too old for her immature-looking but admittedly seriously hot body. Huge, oceans-deep eyes which somehow conveyed the fact that they had seen the depths of hell, and fought their way through it.

Buffy's eyes.

She didn't even realize she was moving until she found herself on the other side of the bar, having leaped over it without once taking her eyes off of those of the girl she would never have recognized without seeing those unmistakable eyes. As she walked through the crowded dance floor to the table where Buffy sat with some strangers, Faith mentally catalogued the astounding physical changes. Her hair had been dyed black, and cut in a sweeping punkish style which didn't really suit her, but had probably been required by what had happened during the fight at the airport. Her entire face had changed shape; her nose seemed longer, cheeks more pronounced, the baby-fat which once gave her face a pixiesh beauty burned away. She was a bit shorter, much thinner, boobs practically nonexistent, legs a mile long and so slender every woman in the club over twenty hated her for them alone. She looked like the models Faith occasionally saw being escorted to the club by men decades older; only not as pouty, not so self-centered, not so vacuous. Buffy's eyes were brilliant and sparkling and alive with curiosity, looking directly at Faith with happiness and amusement and more than a touch of nervousness.

As she approached the table Buffy stood, and Faith didn't even pause to think, to consider her actions, to wonder if her presence meant what she hoped it meant. She didn't think about those things because she _couldn't_ think about them. All she wanted to do was do exactly what she did: take the beautiful girl in her arms and kiss her senseless, ignoring the reaction from the stunned onlookers, the wolf-whistles from the crowd. There was a bit of resistance at first, the tiny girl reacting with shock to the unexpected kiss, but that quickly gave way to appreciation for the emotional intensity of it, the sheer desperate need Faith was unable to hide, the sensuality and overwhelming desire she made no attempt to restrain. Everything she had wanted to say since she first met Buffy –was first _saved_ by Buffy—she put into that kiss, saying more than her own inadequate faculty with words would ever have been able to express. Her joy. Her appreciation. Her desperate desire. Her incredible need.

When the spectacular kiss finally ended, Buffy was mortified to realize they had become the center of attention for everyone in the club. Even the moron on stage was staring at them, open-mouthed. But Faith didn't care. She just held on to the girl and smiled down at her. "I knew you'd find me. I've been waiting for you."

---

Even two girls as sensual as Faith and Buffy found there were limits to the amount of time they could spend making love, despite the bliss of their new relationship. Granted it took a few days before they found any reason to leave the apartment, and even then it was because Buffy wanted to know what her friend had been doing since arriving in Denver. Never much for making friends, Faith hadn't had much in the way of social interactions, until she finally came upon something she knew even a Slayer might enjoy.

Always hyper, her body filled with too much energy and needing to release it in a manner more adrenaline-inducing than simple exercise would permit, Faith had begun participating in an 'extreme sport' known as _parkour_. Actually, because Denver didn't have the sort of urban density parkour's European inventors were able to exploit, she was a practitioner of what was called 'Free Running.' Basically it was using urban environments as an obstacle course, with the objective of maintaining continuous motion and speed despite any intervening obstacles. Free Running added stylized gymnastic movements which weren't strictly necessary to the objectives of parkour, but they looked cool, and 'looking cool' was an objective in itself. It required nerves of steel, perfect timing, extraordinary gymnastic talent, and the not-so-trivial ability to land on concrete without shattering your knees.

Buffy had never seen anything like it, and fell in love with the concept immediately. Her physical condition limited the moves she could perform, meaning she was accepted as a gifted expert by the others in the troupe Faith practiced with, rather than the superhuman abilities she could already see in her mind's-eye once she was fully recovered. She was less interested in the physical artistry of free running than she was in the efficient escape and evasion concept of true parkour. It was a way of looking at her environment she had never considered, a philosophy that complemented her own innate physical gifts as the Slayer. Beyond the philosophy there were techniques the parishioners had developed for running, jumping, and most especially _falling_ that she quickly adapted to her own training regime.

Despite wounds which weren't completely healed, within a few hours Buffy was pulling moves none of the other could dream of matching, so she pulled it back a notch or two to fit in with the group. Not only did she not want them to wonder who she might be, but she wanted to learn from their greater experience. Plus it was a lot of fun. By nature and inclination she was quite competitive, but she was also in a new relationship and didn't want to screw it up by showing off. The four others in the group, three men and a woman, weren't exactly best friends with Faith, but were the closest thing to it Buffy had ever met, even back in Sunnydale, so she did some not-so-subtle digging into what they knew of Faith's tastes and feelings.

It was exactly the right thing to do, diverting them from considering her own abilities by concentrating on her motivations, which were understandably on uncovering whatever information she could on her partner. They teased her a bit about it, some showing more than a bit of jealousy, the other woman most of all. Evidently they had all made a play for Faith, but hadn't gotten anywhere. That surprised Buffy. The Faith she knew back in Sunnydale would not have been so restrained. She had never been one to impose a requirement for emotional intimacy on sexual acts, had treated it more like any other physical function such as going to the toilet or breathing. In the here-and-now, this Faith was more discriminating. Not quite looking to join a nunnery, but not prepared to scratch an itch with the nearest available body either.

Over the next week they went out almost daily to practice at various locations. There was a sense of adventure and thrill-seeking to it that added that extra spice to their activities once they returned to Faith's apartment. Even more than the sex, it was the sheer joy in Faith's expression as they leapt between parkade levels, or climbed the outside of balconies, that Buffy most savored. Because she knew that it wouldn't last. It wouldn't be long before she would be sufficiently recovered to go back to the SGC, and would have to leave. Faith was the most self-reliant person Buffy had ever met, but she was aware that in many ways that was out of necessity rather than choice. Their relationship was already the most serious one Faith had ever known, and they both knew that it would devastate her when Buffy had to leave.

Knowing that the end could come at any time made for some pretty intense evenings. That intensity, in turn, made it that much more difficult to contemplate the inevitable end. Once Buffy returned to work, it would be very difficult for her to return to Denver. Planning for her rematch with the First would occupy all of her time. Bringing Faith to Colorado Springs was a non-starter. She was using fake ID, she was hiding from a big-time gangster, and she was underage. In terms of 'life experience' she had seen and done more than people twice her age… but that wouldn't prevent the cops from returning her to Boston if they found her.

Buffy had been checking her email each day, grateful that Willow had taught her how to do it without leaving a trace that anyone could backtrack to her present location. It was only partly paranoia. She didn't want anyone to use her to find Faith. Even though she wasn't deliberately looking for news on herself, she couldn't help but note even in passing that she remained pretty far up in the media spotlight. Her 'fame' didn't mean she would be in any position to help Faith if she did something stupid and brought media attention down on her. The SGC had helped her out when she was concerned with Willow's safety, but unfortunately Faith didn't have the sort of skills they were looking for. Which was a shame, because it was becoming really important to Buffy that she figure out a way to protect Faith, and let her enjoy the life she had made for herself through sheer guts and incredibly hard work.

Eleven days after showing up in Denver there was a message from General Hammond in her inbox. Things were happening, and they needed her back, if she felt up to it. He was very careful to state that he wasn't _demanding_ she return, only that there were political considerations regarding taking actions against the First which she might want to address. Reading between the lines, the message was clear: the government didn't want to take on yet another powerful opponent, and unless she could convince them it was necessary, they were going to pass on the conflict.

Immediately replying that she would be returning to the Mountain as soon as possible, Buffy went to find Faith. She was trying to think of a way to tell her friend that she had to leave, without coming across as yet another of the many people who had abandoned Faith in her short, but so far unforgivably brutal, life.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

Return To Normal

**Chapter Seven**

In the six months that had passed since Dawn had arrived at Xander's front door, a lot had changed in outward appearances, but some things were still the same. He still went to the shop each morning to work, the sound and smell of wood being machined permeating the atmosphere, human senses finding both pleasant on some primitive level. The act of creating something out of wood or stone was given almost mystical status after ten thousand years of evolutionary development had demonstrated rather conclusively that creative types were needed if the tribe was to survive, let alone prosper. On such a primitive level, Xander would be the heart of his tribe, the Creator-Of-Things. Dawn would be its soul, the shaman who spoke to the god's using arcane rituals and methods. The 'heart' would always be favored for its creative gifts. The 'soul' might be respected for her willingness to intercede with the mercurial gods, but she would always be feared for daring to do so.

The few dozen slayers who had showed up by ones and twos over the past few months fell into that pattern. All of them almost instinctively gravitated towards Xander, trusted his calm competence, sought some kind of spiritual relief in the simple pleasure of watching him work, laughing at his corny jokes, providing assistance when he needed someone stronger than himself to move particularly large objects. To accommodate them he had built a bunkhouse –and then a second one, and had already orders supplies to put up a third—along with shower facilities, and he was in the process of putting up a large dining hall. The girls helped, providing the manual labor, enjoying his easy nature and the idea of building something with their own two hands. Few of them really sought out Dawn, for the most part, despite them all being similar to her in age and of her own sex. They knew what she was doing, knew they didn't have the skills to help her, and were quite frankly terrified of the answers she was getting. Nobody enjoyed learning that their own personal God was the Devil in disguise.

These were slayers who hadn't joined Slayers Inc, despite the high pay and other, less tangible benefits, because they either had issues with the jobs to which they were assigned, or just had an instinctive distrust of the CEO. Less than a quarter –probably a _lot_ less-- of those girls Called by Willow's spell had declined to take up employment with Slayers Inc, and a fair number of them had been contacted by Grace since Dawn left the group. The queries had been tentative feelers, nobody ready to come out and actually saying anything, but everyone dancing around the same unstated question; was there something truly _wrong_ with Buffy Summers? They all knew Dawn was the favored sister, the one who had been trained by _The_ Rupert Giles to take over the Watchers Council some day. If _she_ thought there was something wrong, then maybe they weren't so crazy after all.

They had all learned the hard way that there were _very_ severe consequences for daring to challenge Buffy in public. Consequences so severe that even in private they were very careful about even intimating there might be something even slightly less than wonderful about her. Girls who weren't willing to work under the government-sanctioned auspices of Slayers Inc found it very difficult to make a living. Governments had come to an agreement that they couldn't trust each other not to use 'their' slayers as 'special agents,' so all agreed to 'encourage' those girls Called among their populations to join the company. It was generally felt that if they weren't able to accept the restrictions of working for Slayers Inc then they likely had something to hide, or a mental defect which made them less than trustworthy. Out of necessity they had worked together, supported each other. They called themselves the 'Ronin' after the masterless samurai in ancient Japan. When Grace had told them that _Dawn Summers_ of all people was suggesting that her sister had died in the already-mythical destruction of Sunnydale, and been replaced by the supposedly-defeated First Evil, everyone was _very_ interested in hearing her out. Slowly, tentatively, many had been making their way to Xander's cabin, scoping out the situation, considering their options.

Nobody really thought Buffy would harm Dawn. Of all the rules which had been imposed by Slayers Inc one was emphasized more than any other; nothing, but _nothing_ was allowed to happen to Dawn. Buffy Summers had made good on that order several times, when demon or vampire groups had gone after her sister. They had been slaughtered. None had been spared, no matter how distant their connection to the actual plan. Even humans, normally outside the slayer mandate, were warned that the gloves would come off if anyone threatened Dawn. It wasn't known if Buffy had ever backed up that particular threat. It _was_ known that she had made it abundantly clear that, should the need arise, she most definitely _would_.

On the other hand, despite such intimations of filial devotion, Buffy didn't seem to _like_ Dawn very much, or pine for her presence. When they were together they did nothing but argue. Both seemed happier when Dawn was away doing her thing with Giles in England and Buffy running the slayers out of Cleveland. Whatever their relationship, the girls who had Bad Feelings where Buffy Summers was concerned wanted to be around in case she decided to deliver a smackdown to Little Sis for the insult. A few of them, who had been 'smacked down' themselves by the Capital-'S'-Slayer, would be glad for a chance to return the favor. As the months passed more and more Ronin were setting in on Xander's property to see what Lil' Sis intended to do about the monster she was claiming had taken over her sister.

Despite Xander's studly competition, the situation required the Ronin to work with Dawn, and to their considerable surprise, most of them found that they actually _liked_ her. Out from under the shadow of her formidable sister she was neither the pouty, whiny brat nor obsessed egghead they had previously pigeon-holed her as. But she also intimidated the hell out of most of them. She was _scary_ smart. Not just book-smart, the academic stuff any Watcher-wannabe would be expected to be, but _real-world_ smart. She was able to use her high-tech tools in sneaky, inventive ways to get answers nobody else could see. Knowing that Willow was better with computers than her, Dawn assumed that everything she did was being monitored, so overwhelmed the system with so much random data nobody else would ever figure out what she was looking for. She never asked a direct question which might really indicate the thrust of her search. Everything was only dimly, peripherally related to what she really was trying to find out, and not even Willow had the real-world experience to put the pieces together they way Dawn could.

Dawn saw meaningful patterns in seemingly random events, like a jewel worn by the mistress of a government official in Thailand, and from it could extrapolate seemingly unrelated information such as the stock price of a certain South American multinational on the Zurich exchange. When pressed, she explained that the jewel had been purchased in Melbourne from the owner of a small mine, who needed the capitol to invest in a Brazilian conglomerate which was aggressively sponsoring trade relations with the nation of Suriname, where bauxite could be found but could not be extracted due to a not-so-minor problem with a rebel insurrection. From that information Dawn was able to speculate that Slayers Inc would be covertly approached to put down the insurrection. She would know when it happened by a sudden spike in the stock value of the Brazilian company. This was important because bauxite was used in the production of aluminum, and more bauxite coming out of Africa would lower the value of that coming from Brazil, and Buffy had an 'arrangement' with a major stakeholder in an American aluminum producer who was presently experiencing some financial difficulties. Weighing the benefits of supporting her American patsy, given the odds of his economic survival, versus the potential benefits of creating a new arrangement with the aggressive Brazilian multinational had interesting implications for Buffy's investments in Russia, another source of bauxite production.

All of that, Dawn got from the picture of an ugly jewel hanging between the plastic tits of a skanky-looking whore in the Entertainment section of a Bangkok newspaper. There was no doubting Willow Rosenberg's intelligence, but few of the Ronin setting up camp among Xander's trees thought there was the slightest chance she would see the connections Dawn was drawing from the seemingly mundane information she was downloading. Willow's worldview, and her interests, simply did not extend in that direction. The Witch was really good with facts, with numbers; but Dawn was amazing when it came to seeing _patterns_, the interdependencies of economic relationships. Because they had no Intelligence assets within Slayers Inc to tell them Buffy's intentions, the Ronin had never been able to figure out what her next move would be. Without even once looking up information specific to the company or its formidable CEO, Dawn had accurately projected every move Buffy had made for the previous three months. Some suspected that part of her brilliant deductions were based on covert bugs and monitoring software she had emplaced before leaving the Compound, but even if that was true, it still showed she could think two steps ahead of anyone else. Her warning that the ad-hoc arrangement one of their members had to keep vampires away from a small company in Florida was impacting a much-larger Slayers Inc contract in Paraguay had been enough for them to get the girl out of state immediately. People who 'negatively-impacted' Slayers Inc contracts tended to disappear, and were never seen again.

They weren't creating a 'resistance' movement or anything. They were just trying to figure out what Buffy's objective might be. The Ronin gave Dawn a significant edge, since they were _slayers_, girls who could furtively penetrate the security of almost any site, giving Dawn an alternate source of Intelligence Willow would not be able to follow electronically. What she found was all written down, and copied into her laptop, flowcharts and interlinked corporate structure maps showing evolving patterns only the First could presently see. But Dawn was _good_ at figuring things out. She'd discover what the First was up to eventually. Nobody doubted that after seeing her in action. Over time, more and more of the Ronin were drawn to her because they wanted to know _what_ it was she was beginning to see. Plus, given her insight into Slayers Inc's corporate strategy, her investment portfolio went up even faster than Buffy's, since she could legally short the targets of her sisters' corporate aggression. In four months she was a millionaire. Within six, she was supporting the Ronin, in return for them doing the occasional little favor for her.

One such favor involved a mission slightly more risky than the usual Intelligence gathering covert assignment she usually handed out. Her research had located an unusually well-protected remote site that Buffy herself visited occasionally. Nothing seemed to be produced there, nor was there an obvious reason for its existence. But the slayers Buffy –stopping herself, Dawn consciously re-addressed the individual in question—the guards _the First _sent to the site were among the most vicious and screwed-up people she had working for her. Considering how messed up slayers got once they started picking on innocent people, and how many innocent people Slayers Inc were messing with, that said something. Dawn really wanted to know what was happening at that site… and her Ronin really wanted some action. After giving them what little information she had, Dawn left them to do their own planning and logistics, being careful to keep a silent eye on who took the initiative and who sat around drinking her beer… and listening very carefully to Xander's take on their relative abilities.

Since there was no special priority on the mission they took their time, treating it more as an exercise than a tactical necessity, and Dawn really didn't give them much thought as she continued her research during the weeks they were gone. She ate with Xander each night, just the two of them, the Ronin using their own facilities Xander had built when it became clear their guests didn't plan on leaving any time soon. And like the Ronin, Dawn was finding it increasingly… _nice_… to be around her teenage crush. Xander was funny, and decent, and a genuinely sweet guy… who had an unexpectedly incisive way of cutting through the bullshit and understanding underlying motivations. For a guy who came across as, well, a tradesman, someone whose ambitions and interests didn't extend beyond drinking beer while watching the NFL after putting in a '9 to 5' day, Xander was surprisingly aware of what was going on in the world, and perceptive as hell when it came to who was metaphorically screwing whom and why.

The strange thing with Xander, compared to most men Dawn had known, was that he was not only _not_ intimidated by smart women; he actually _preferred_ to be around them. Not because he was some kind of pathetic milquetoast who liked to be dominated by a powerful woman, but because he was completely aware that his interests extended far beyond his own ability to adequately influence events. Few of the men in his professional or personal circle of acquaintances had any interest in the outside subjects which interested him. So he sought out women with the intelligence to comprehend, or direct experience in those matters of interest so that he could offer an opinion on those issues. He knew he would never be anything more than a side-kick, and seemed perfectly comfortable with the niche life seemed to have dropped him into. He wasn't offended if he couldn't impose his opinions on events, but he really wanted to at least make his feelings known to those who _could_.

Thanks to his rather unique childhood Xander had a really interesting take on events. His parents had been alcoholics who had been verbally abusive when not completely oblivious to his presence, and he had fallen in with a group where he had been the least powerful member. He had made jokes about his primary function being to provide donuts, but stuck with them, day in and day out, year after year, when anyone with a lick of sense would have run away the first moment they possibly could. His childhood hero had often seemed to dismiss him as irrelevant or useless… yet who had obviously missed him when he wasn't there… and who, when she couldn't do it herself, had sent her most precious possession into his care for protection. In fact, although he didn't know it yet, she had done it _twice_.

Dawn had crushed on Xander when she was young more out of lack of alternatives than anything else. Being the sister of a girl who was widely known for being capable of beating the living crap out of anyone who crossed her made guys surprisingly hesitant to ask said sister out, given the potential downside of trying to cop a feel. Despite the lack of experience resulting from her unfortunate protective bubble, Dawn was becoming increasingly convinced that she hadn't made a mistake when selecting her default crush. Unlike her sister, she wasn't looking for drama, the existential angst and passion Buffy had invariably sought in her relationships. Probably because she had seen what it did to Buffy, Dawn wanted something else, something she could count on, something that would _last_ beyond the initial stages of Young Lust. Maybe it wouldn't give her the emotional highs Buffy occasionally reached in her relationships, but she wouldn't have to deal with the incessant lows either. And God only knew, Buffy had endured far more lows than highs.

Which wasn't to say Xander was boring. He was no, to quote Willow, 'dog-geyser person.' Yes, he was dependable, and reliable, and all those other '–ables' some might consider to be less than exciting. But Dawn figured she had more than enough excitement in her life already. She didn't need any more in her relationships. What she wanted was someone who would hold her, and _be there_ for her, and not get his machismo out of joint because she was smarter than him or because she ran the Ronin. It had always irritated her that some people felt that possession of a penis automatically qualified them for leadership, regardless of competence or aptitude. It wasn't something she would have to explain to Xander. Nobody who had seen him wield a sword would call Xander a wimp; and thanks to his experience with the Scoobies, he had learned early that 'female empowerment' did not require emasculation. Just because he took orders from a woman did not make him less of a man.

He was also an incredibly good judge of character, and was able to observe the Ronin on a much more casual manner than Dawn could. It would probably have shocked them to realize that his '_Aw, shucks'_ self-deprecating attitude concealed an incisive understanding of human psychology. He saw things not even Dawn noticed, his years as a Scoobie providing a base of experience she couldn't match. But his criticisms weren't personal; he was impartial, honest, and almost always correct in his assessment. It helped that his fundamental judgment matched hers: at least one in three of the Ronin were, for lack of a better term, _duds_. Physically capable of doing the job, but neither emotionally nor temperamentally capable of ever becoming a good slayer. Having witnessed the idiots around Slayers Inc, she figured their lemon percentage was actually better than the First had to deal with. That he had noticed this fact, despite his slayer obsession, made Xander even more interesting to Dawn. She found herself relying on him more and more on the personnel side. After dealing with so many sexist jerks and the momma's-boys backstabbing each other for her attention back in Cleveland, Dawn found his attitude refreshing. And attractive.

One problem with his attitude was that it forced Dawn to make the first move. Xander would _never_ make a play for her, even if she hinted strongly that she would welcome it. Fortunately she was okay with that, and figured the time had come to make her intentions clear. Too many of the damned Ronin were preparing to do the same thing, and an uncomfortable percentage of them were hotties, if only because they were more physically fit than the average hormone-laden teenage jail-bait. Slayers were _not_ renowned for their sexual restraint, and Xander was the only guy around. Well, besides Andrew, whom she only considered to be 'male' in the genetic, physiological sense. Not that the local penis shortage prevented them from getting their rocks off in other ways, but he would have been on their radar even if he didn't have the whole piratical eye-patch thing going when he cleaned the prosthetic. The only thing holding them back had been concern that Dawn might have a prior claim, but if she didn't make a move pretty damned quick they wouldn't hold off much longer. The fact that they hadn't already done so demonstrated pretty clearly how much respect she was getting from people who had once dismissed her as a whiney, petulant brat.

Dawn was a little too busy with her work to have the time she'd like to devote to beginning a new relationship, but circumstances had conspired to require pre-emptive action. It helped that the respect of the Ronin had increased her self-confidence a hundredfold since leaving Cleveland. She was ready to take a few risks. Never let it be said that Dawn Summers hadn't learned lessons in strategy as a Junior Scoobie! Without giving Xander any hint that Armageddon was at hand, she simply got up from her chair, walked over to him, and sat down on his lap, legs spread to each side of his thighs, face forward to meet his increasingly panic-stricken eye. Ignoring his fumbling attempts to evade, she cupped his face and planted a gentle kiss right on his mouth. His struggles noticeably weakened rather quickly, as the kiss deepened. But when she tried for more he panicked, jumping to his feet, enough of a gentleman to ensure she wasn't tossed aside but holding onto her arms more out of defensiveness than lust.

"Uh, Dawnie, wandering hands…" His confused sputterings would have been more intimidating had she not had rather firm evidence that he had been seriously turned on by her actions. Granted it didn't take a helluva lot to turn on a guy, especially one who had been alone as long as Xander had, but Dawn was pretty confident that he wasn't exactly repulsed by her. She felt a bit smug over having predicted his reaction right down to a T.

"They are going to be doing a lot more wandering, Xand. I'm not going to let any of those oversexed floozies mess with you. If any 'floozy' is going to 'mess' with you, that floozy will be _me_." With a big smile and rather horny glint in her eye she pointed her thumb at herself, discovering that she was rather enjoying the exercise in cave-woman seduction. Figuring that if it had worked for Anya, she saw no reason to alter a winning formula. "Oh, quit panicking! You're starting to whimper! It could be worse. It's not like you have to explain your sexual peccadilloes to me! I _knew_ Anya, and like everyone else who knew Anya, we know _everything_ you like to do in the bedroom, how often you like to do it, and in what position. I'm okay with it all… well, except maybe for that thing with the bugle. And, hell, I'm willing to give even that one the ol' college try! Lord only knows none of those Ronin floozies would refuse; the sluts. Oh, quit looking at me like that! My sister was a slayer; I know exactly what they're like. And since they are the competition I'm going to have to be a little more flexible than I usually am when it comes to matters 'slutty.'"

Putting her arms up around his neck, Dawn tried to pull his face down to resume the oral seduction, but didn't push it when she saw he was really frightened, apparently still processing the sudden change in their relationship she was proposing. Knowing that he wasn't turned off by aggressive women, Dawn was equally aware that he wasn't exactly thrilled with being the target of a stalker. The infamous 'love spell' episode demonstrated there were practical limits to Xander's fantasies about being dominated by strong women. So, despite enjoying herself immensely, Dawn backed off just a bit, leaving her arms around his neck and moving close enough for him to feel her breasts touching his chest, but not pushing for any more right away. "Sorry Xand. I know this is pretty sudden. You've probably spent years reminding yourself that I'm your friend's kid sister, that I'm too young, that you not only can't have me, but can't even _think_ about touching me. So I understand it will take some time for you to adjust. I'll give you all the time you need.

"Say… until noon tomorrow. After that I start marking my territory."

Releasing him, she turned away, looking back over her shoulder as she walked slowly to her bedroom, being very obvious about undoing the buttons on her shirt. "Sleep well, Xand. You won't be getting much rest tomorrow night." Smiling seductively, immensely enjoying his 'deer-in-the-headlights' look, she casually dropped the shirt in front of her door, careful to provide tantalizing glimpses of what it had covered as she shut the door behind her. She didn't even try to restrain the delighted giggle that escaped at the sound of her victim whimpering in aroused fear.

----

Unfortunately her plan for a 'quick and _very_ dirty' seduction was derailed the next morning when the Ronin returned from their mission. They were accompanied by two guests. Illyria… and Spike.

The blue-skinned humanoid who used to be Winifred Burkle seemed to be fine, looking around with dispassionate curiosity. The same could not be said of her companion. The vampire was in horrific shape. Barely able to walk, he was supported by two slayers, one on each side, his arm over their shoulders. Being Spike, even battered and crippled, he was still trying to grab hold of any unprotected breast that came within grasping range. The slayers were careful not to be overly harsh when slapping his hands away, given that every one of his fingers was broken, and only swollen, discolored skin showed where his fingernails used to be. His legs were bent at odd angles, and he winced every time they were put under pressure as he occasionally tried to take a step, rather than be carried by two young girls. Given that vampires could recover from serious injury nearly as fast as a slayer, he had been beaten horrifically, often, and had been kept that way for some time. But he hadn't been 'broken.' Not the way he was snapping at the girls, arguing with them, swearing up a storm every time his legs were bumped or his hands slapped. "_Yow_! Bloody hell, girl, stop with the violence! I'm _injured_! I need comfort, and medical assistance… and a really good massage. Followed by a hot bath. With the masseuse! My bleedin' hands are too bleedin' fugged to wash with, so you'll have to do it… _yow_! Quit slapping me, woman! Wounded man, here!"

"Wounded _vampire_, asshole. Be grateful I don't put you out of your misery… oh, hi, Dawn! We found your… _friend_. And his…uh… friend. Have I mentioned lately that you have some really _interesting_ friends?"

Waiting until they carefully lowered him into a convenient chair, Dawn went over and carefully hugged the vampire, horrified by his injuries and the changes he had undergone since they last saw each other. She, of course, had grown from a young girl to a woman, but she hadn't expected to see a similarly dramatic change in the vampire. He was immortal, after all. Somehow she had pictured him as unchanging, always the bleached-blonde punk with leather accoutrements. But his hair was long, a brown color so dark it was almost black, only the chiseled cheekbones recognizable in a face altered by scarring and broken bones and missing teeth. Not even wanting to think about what sort of equivalent damage might be hidden under his clothing, Dawn gently picked up one of his shattered hands and looked into his eyes. "What the hell happened to you?"

Closing his eyes for a second, he basked in the warmth of her gentle hands, the first such gentle treatment he had known for more years than he wanted to remember. Spike had long since gotten over his misbegotten infatuation with her psycho-bitch of a sister, but despite being most definitely gown up and looking rather _fine_, he still found himself thinking of Dawn as the little girl whom he had promised to protect. The one who had trusted him to live up to that promise. The one promise he had never betrayed. And who, in turn, had never looked at him like he was a monster. "Hello, 'Bit. Shoulda' known it was you behind this. Who else would have sent slayers to get me away from other bloody slayers."

At that Dawn looked up, meeting the eyes of the girl who had led the raid. Grace was still her favorite among the Ronin. Once away from the constant infighting around Slayers Inc, Grace had proven to be competent, capable, and able to follow orders even when she didn't like them. Just like Dawn, the respect of her colleagues had done wonders for her self-confidence. Like all slayers she was arrogant and quick-tempered, but Grace was more disciplined than most. Too many of the others would have simply dusted Spike as just another vampire, despite the circumstances of his capture. Dawn hadn't known what they would find when she sent them off on their mission so hadn't explicitly told them to rescue Spike, but Grace had known of her interest in the vampire and had mounted a rescue mission on the fly. That was the sort of initiative Dawn was looking for in the Ronin, and saw all too rarely. But she just hoped it did not come at the price of pissing off her sis… the First. "Was anyone hurt?"

Meeting her eyes, Grace gave a bit of a smirk. Even though she had become a leader among the Ronin, the one Dawn trusted most to get the job done right, Grace still reacted defensively whenever she faced their leader. Since escaping Cleveland Grace had lost some weight, but was still a bit chubby, despite being just as physically capable as any of her sister slayers. Facing Dawn, whose slim, statuesque body and model-perfect face still caused feelings of jealous bitterness every time Grace had to look at her, she tamped down her instinctively belligerent response. In truth, she thought Dawn could walk on water, was continually awed by her beauty and brilliance, and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that without Dawn she and her new friends were screwed. So she tried to hide her adulation behind a tough, aggressive façade. After all, _she_ was the damned slayer, and could crush Ms Perfect into a paste, goddammit! Not that she _would_; but she _could_. So _there_! Grace had to make a deliberate effort not to stick out her tongue. "We were careful. There were only two guards there when we made our move, and we didn't hurt either of them. They'll know we were slayers, but that was inevitable. Getting out of the zone with the wounded meat was a bit tougher, but nobody got killed on either side. A few dustups when they got too close, but nothing my girls couldn't handle."

The other five girls who had accompanied Grace smiled at Dawn like the sleek, feline predators they were. Meeting their eyes, Dawn returned the smile, inwardly thrilled that her work –and Faith's ruthless training—was finally paying such dividends. The Ronin were starting to get it. Even some of the 'duds' could be made effective when put under the thumb of a tough bitch like Grace. Mostly because those who couldn't had to explain themselves to Faith. No matter how formidable she was, Grace couldn't hold a candle to Faith when it came to intimidation. "Excellent. Get some food and some rest. We'll wait until Faith gets back before going through debrief and post-mission critique. All of you think it over before you go to bed. What worked, what didn't? What were they good at? Where are the weaknesses in our training and theirs? You just took the first offensive mission against Slayers Inc, but it won't be the last, not by a long shot. We need to know what we're doing right and what we need to concentrate on going forward.

"You did good. All of you. Thank you. Now bugger off." She smiled down at Spike as she used one of his favored expressions, happy to see her old protector even under such horrible conditions, despite the scowl on the face of her soon-to-be bed partner. Xander had come out from the house a few minutes earlier, not having slept a minute since Dawn had delivered her ultimatum, and not at all happy to see one of his least-favorite people.

Xander had grudgingly put up with the presence of the vampire back in Sunnydale because Buffy wanted him there, and he knew that he was the last person to criticize anyone else for their choices in lovers. But he'd never liked Spike, liked him even less after learning he'd tried to rape Buffy, and presently positively loathed the bastard because he knew the girl he'd spent the previous evening fantasizing about considered the vampire to be her own personal knight in shining leather. He knew damned well that the vampire was a helluva fighter; but he was a menace, a jerk, a psycho… and he was presently looking at the object of his lust like she was an ice cream cone and he had just spent a long day sweating in Death Valley. Even under the best of circumstances Xander would have rather seen pretty much anyone else show up on his doorstep needing TLC than Spike. Having Spike show up looking for TLC from Dawn just when their relationship was on the verge of a dramatic, possibly even seismic shift, meant that circumstances were about as far from 'best' as it was possible to get. "I like the new look, Spike. The whole post-bondage, 'I-Was-The-First's-Bitch,' morning-after fashion statement is definitely _you_! I'll see if any of the slayers around here want to break out their whips and chains so you won't be deprived of your little kink."

Finally turning away from Dawn to face Xander with an expression of amused contempt, Spike looked him up and down like he was examining a stool sample. "Well, if it isn't the… _carpenter_! Have they already broken enough furniture that they had to search you out for repairs, Harris? I can't think of any other possible reason why people who can actually _fight_ would seek out your dead weight." In truth the vampire was privately amazed at how little the man looked like 'dead weight.' He knew why Buffy had kept Xander around, even though he hadn't agreed with her reasons. In some ways he even enjoyed the boy's honest emotions. And he did have terrific taste in women. The way he was practically salivating over little Dawnie, and his obvious jealousy over the way she was holding his hand so soothingly, appealed to his contrary nature. Even knowing he couldn't put up any sort of defense if the pup decided to get violent, it just wasn't in Spike's nature not to push back under those circumstances.

Groaning piteously, he smirked behind Dawn's back when she rushed to get medication, enjoying the rage on Xander's face. In truth, however, Spike was almost in as bad a shape as he was pretending to be. They'd worked him over, bad, for a long time. They hadn't killed him only because they wanted to torture him, not just physically, but with the knowledge that Buffy herself had ordered it be done to him. They hadn't realized that he was no longer obsessed by that particular itch. He had known there was something wrong with their relationship –he still couldn't believe he'd been ready to kill _Dru_ just to 'prove' his love to the bloody _Slayer_ of all idiotic obsessions-- so had made a deliberate effort to stay away when he was brought back after Sunnydale. The one time he had tried, in Rome, had mostly been out of his eternal competition with the Poof. He still didn't know why Angel was so set on getting back with Buffy. She really hadn't been his type! Had he never noticed the rack on Nina? Or Gwen? Or _Cordie_?! Or just about any of the other women he'd been attracted to over the decades? Whose chest did not fit in with this group?!?

But Spike also knew he was the last person to call anyone else on their obsessions.

Spike, at least, knew why he liked the Slayer. She liked to beat his bottom, could shag like a mink in heat, and didn't mind if he got carried away with the rough-housing while he was doing the nasty. But something he saw in Rome made him cautious. Something in her behavior troubled him, made him wonder if she was actually the Buffy he remembered, so he hadn't been overly disappointed when she ignored both of them to shag the Immortal, a douche bag of the highest order. _Offended_, but not disappointed. Seeing their girl boinking such a ponce was roughly like seeing the finest champagne being gargled by a drunken Scotsman.

It was obvious that something wasn't right with the Slayer, and Spike had spent the next few years being extremely careful to stay out of her way until he figured out what it was. When Slayers Inc went public and started a genocidal pogrom to wipe out vampires, he was glad he'd taken simple precautions. The Buffy he remembered would never had done anything like what the mini-slayers were being ordered to do; essentially to wipe out all supernatural beings, regardless of the danger they represented to the human population. Bloody hell, they'd killed Clem. _Clem_! The only thing you could point to as 'monstrous' about Clem had been his diet, but if eating weird things was enough to get him killed, why weren't the bloody slayers wasting the sodding _Japs_?!? Had they never seen 'Iron Chef'?!?

Given that there were hundreds of mini-slayers, none of them particularly discriminating in whom they were off-ing, much of the demon population tried to make their exit using a portal to one of the parallel hell-dimensions. Spike didn't know if Lorne had made it through to Pylea, but most of Spike's mates had been forced to pay a powerful shaman or warlock to open a temporary portal to anywhere they could to escape the slaughter. Those who couldn't afford their fee had been forced to stand and fight. As a vampire who liked nothing more than a decent tussle, Spike would have joined in, but after that thing with the Circle of the Black Thorn idiots in LA he was a bit shy about taking part in such a high-profile fracas. Entire cities had been destroyed. Spike wouldn't have cared if every city on Earth was burnt to the ground –except for the [possibly mythical; Spike wasn't certain town of Harmony, because _Passions_ was filmed there—but the sheer scale of the violence had awakened the humans to the reality they had so long been content to ignore. They'd reacted the way humans always reacted to the unexpected –with genocidal fury.

The worst part, for Spike, was the suspicion that Buffy had done it all for bloody _money_! Hundreds of slayers had died, thousands of humans had been killed, and tens of thousands of the supernatural element slaughtered, just so that Buffy could take Slayers Inc public and have it listed on the New York Stock Exchange! In addition to becoming rich, she'd also gained quite a bit of political power. What had happened in LA had been bad enough –a television crew had caught some of the Ponce's final battle against the bloody dragon which had almost killed Spike himself—but this had been bigger, more wide-spread, and couldn't be blamed on Evil Lawyers. When Buffy had demanded a _nuclear frikkin' bomb_ to use on one of the Hell dimensions, to close the portal, the stupid gits actually _gave_ it to her! And she had _used_ the sodding thing! This was not the Buffy he remembered, and if he'd had half a clue he'd have gotten out while he could.

Spike just wasn't the type to run. Which, of course, meant that he was a complete git. They eventually found him, and captured him, and since then had been trying to break him. Physically, they had succeeded. Mentally, it was a different story. Spike did not 'break.' It had been tried before, by experts. The bloody Nazi's had done things to him that would have made these pansies puke. Glory hadn't exactly been gentle either. But _nobody_ forced Spike to do something he didn't want to do. Well, the First had turned him into some kind of Manchurian Candidate robot back when he was chipped, forcing him to unknowingly kill people, but once he understood the trigger he was able to overcome the compulsion through sheer force of will. They had tried to repeat the process, but this time he knew what was coming and resisted. Spike was nobody's bitch.

Well, unless he wanted to be.

Normally, when a human was bitten by a vampire during the 'sire-ing' process, the human was effectively 'killed' and the body taken over by the demon which endows it with a 'pseudo-life.' Somehow, the pathetic milquetoast William had been able to at least partially withstand the demon infecting his body. He would never be the same, but he didn't _want_ to be. He wanted to be _Spike_; as tough and mean as any other vampire, but a bit more under control, a bit more… human. Angelus had been truly, purely, _evil_; Spike often _chose_ to be evil, but if the stakes were high enough, he didn't _have_ to be evil. So far as he knew, no other vampire had more control over their demon aspect than Spike did. Except perhaps Harmony, but that was only because the demon expected to be able to use a functioning human brain when it occupied a human body, and that was one organ Harm had not been able to provide.

The bitches had certainly tried to break him. Almost succeeded too, when 'Buffy' arrived and started messing with his head. But she had been oddly clumsy about it. There had been other prisoners, some demonic, many not, and she had zeroed in on their weaknesses with surgical precision, leaving them devastated, usually suicidal. With Spike she had pushed too hard, too fast, and become frustrated when he didn't bleat and grovel like the others. Even though her scent had been all Buffy, she had reminded him of _Glory_, and he was soon pushing her buttons far more effectively than she his. In many ways it had been worth the horrible price he had paid afterwards. After all he had done to gain her favor, Buffy's betrayal of everything he had admired about her had devastated him. He had read the tabloids, seen the leaked sex tapes. This wasn't _Buffy_. Noting her diminished chest, he had scoffed that it was the result of a diet comprised exclusively of cocaine and semen. She had made him pay for that, of course. The pain had been almost unbearable. But worth it to see her frustration and rage. Especially since he had very little to lose by denying her whatever satisfaction she sought by breaking him.

Long before he was rescued, Spike had a pretty good idea what he was dealing with. The First was back. Which meant that Buffy was dead. The third most important person in his post-mortal unlife. The loss of such prime poon was worthy of a moment of silence, but messing with the First was almost as entertaining as doing the same thing to Illyria, back before the Poof got all suicidally overambitious. Only he and the Bluebird had eventually reached a form of mutual respect. When it came to the First, he despised the bitch with a depthless hatred he hadn't even tried to hide. He knew they were going to fuck him over either way. Apparently the First couldn't read the minds of vampires, and was seeking other ways to control them. Bitch did have serious 'control' issues. Of course, being baited by an expert like Spike didn't help her restrain herself any.

When Dawn returned with splints and bandages, Spike had to keep himself from screaming when she adjusted various broken appendages, securing them so they would heal correctly. Naturally he was immune from infection, and since his heart did not beat he didn't bleed any more than was forced out through capillary action when he moved. But the broken bones would heal regardless of their position, so Spike endured the pain of her ensuring they were straight rather than face the dubious pleasure of having to break them later to reset anything that wound up crooked. Had it been anyone but Dawn he'd have screamed blue murder; but it was, so he didn't. Much to Harris' evident dismay. And since he couldn't say anything to Dawn, Spike took out his frustrations on the carpenter.

"What are you looking at, Cyclops?" His glare was met, and returned in full measure. Unfortunately, the biggest pussy among the Scoobies had grown a spine. The boy wasn't backing down, and there wasn't a whole lot Spike could do about it. Nauseating as it was to admit, Dawn had made her choice, and no matter how much she looked at Spike as her big brother, if he tried to bite her man she was likely to unman _him_. He almost sighed. That was the problem with taking 'little sis' under his wing. It was inevitable that she'd choose some loser wuss instead of the _real_ man he'd have been glad to go out and choose for her. "Bugger off, mate. I'm not about to steal your girl. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm in no shape to do anything even if I wanted to. I've been _tortured_, you pathetic git!"

Snorting in contempt, Xander didn't appear particularly sympathetic. "You're a masochist, Spike. You probably got off on the whole thing. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised that you signed up for a little S&M in the bondage room and it got out of hand. Since when have you been reduced to whimpering like a little baby because of a few broken bones? I remember back when you were the _Big Bad_, the most dangerous son of a bitch in the Valley. Now you're about as intimidating as 'Motor' Ed trying to catch Kim Possible in his monster truck. Seriously. You lost the title when you became Buffy's Bitch, and now you're whining like a little girl because someone bitch-slapped you around a bit. BFD. Man up, suck it up, and shut the fuck up, you pussy."

Glaring at the intemperate whelp, Spike let him know what he had been more than merely 'slapped around.' "You have no idea what they did to me, you miserable prat! They _tortured_ me, for months! Broke my bones, ripped out my fingernails, exposed me to sunlight, dropped me onto a pile of crosses. The worst was forcing my head down into a water tank…"

Amazed and disgusted, Xander interrupted with a harsh laugh. "They tried to _drown_ you?!? You're a goddamned _vampire_, you idiot! You don't need to _breathe_! What the hell is the point of trying to drown you?!"

Scowling at him, Spike tried not to tremble with the memory. "They added some Holy Water to the tank, you ponce! Not enough to burn away my flesh, but enough to _feel_ like I was being dropped into a vat of acid. Once they pulled my head out of the bloody water I healed almost instantly, which meant they could repeat it practically forever without killing me. It fucking _hurt_ like you would not believe. And because it was caused by Holy Water, the pain never got less, no matter how often they did it." Turning to face Dawn, he added "Pardon my French."

She smiled back at him. "It's okay. I _have_ heard it before."

Her gentle ministrations almost broke him. He couldn't hide from it any longer. Spike was angered by the pressure in his eyes, his hands so shattered they could not be used to wipe away the tears waiting to fall. Telling himself it was due to the pain didn't work. Not anymore. Not now that he was safe, and no longer able to distract himself with concerns over immediate survival. For two years he had tried to protect his long-dead heart by sneering at what Buffy had done to herself, the decisions she had made since he left her after Sunnydale imploded. Pretending that it didn't matter, that their relationship had been nothing but another in a long list of idiotic obsessions he had indulged in over the years. But if that had ever been true, it no longer was. He had gotten a bleedin' _soul_ for her! The only vampire ever to _willingly_ have his soul restored. And if her betrayal had hurt, her death was even more devastating.

It didn't matter that he had been with Dru for more than a century. Despite having more control over his demon than other vampires, Spike had still been as much of a nihilistic sociopath as any other vampire. Having a clinically insane girlfriend had fit his image. _Loving_ that girlfriend had been the oddity which set him apart from other vampires. But no matter how much he had loved her, Drucilla had been so mentally shattered by Angelus that she had been, in the end, emotionally limited. Incapable of demonstrating the sheer range of the emotional roller-coaster his infatuation with the Slayer had unleashed. He had gotten his soul restored to prove to Buffy –and to himself—that his oddness went even deeper than his ability to feel love. That he was more than the monster which animated him.

Had she been worth the price he had paid to prove that point? For years he had sneered at his stupidity, lying to himself about what he had done and why he did it. But finally he was forced to face the truth. It hadn't been _Buffy_ who betrayed him. _Buffy_ was _dead_. Spike had no choice but to finally confront the truth he had been evading for years.

Yes, she had been worth it.

Hell, yes!

A _thousand times_ yes!

Even knowing how it would end, even though it took everything he had not to scream in agony as Dawn splintered his shattered bones, Spike would choose the same path were he offered the opportunity to live it all over again. He'd try a lot harder not to be captured by the fucking _First_, perhaps! But when it came to his relationship with Buffy, he wouldn't change a thing. Even knowing she didn't love him back. Even knowing she was using him to feel _anything_ beyond the emptiness of her own shattered soul thanks to Red's spell. He'd still do it all again. Because in the end, finally, she'd looked at him like the man he'd wanted to be his entire life, not the wimp he'd been, or the monster he'd become. For one perfect moment, he'd been a _hero_.

No amount of pain, no possible torture, could take that moment away from him. It was the single greatest moment of his existence, and he would pay any price to have experienced that one perfect moment. After more than a century of being everything except what he'd always wanted to be, he'd finally taken that extra step, had put it all on the line and for the first and only time in his existence had put someone else ahead of himself, had sacrificed everything so that someone far better than him could survive. That she was probably already dead by then and occupied by the First was irrelevant. _His_ actions had been what truly counted, not their unforeseen results. He had done _good_, he knew it, and he liked it. He had fully expected to go to Hell for all the crap he'd done up until then, but his shiny new soul wasn't irredeemably tainted. He was no longer simply 'evil.'

When he'd somehow been brought back to his un-life he'd been as shocked as anyone. The next few years working with the Poof again had been fun –especially the part where he'd finally, at long last, beaten Angel at _something_—but in reality he had just been marking time while he figured out what he wanted to do with himself. He wasn't into that whole masochistic 'redemption' rubbish. He'd done what he'd done, but it was done and no point in getting all broody about it. What mattered was what he would _do_ going forward, not what he had _done_ in the past. Hanging out with Team Angel had given him time to consider his options, but things had gotten seriously out of hand before he'd come to any decisions. Afterwards he'd run until they caught him, and only now was he once again in a position to make his own choices.

Except, of course, if the 'Bit had her own ideas about what he would be doing once he recovered. Not only did he owe her for the rescue, but she was the_ 'Bit_. His friend. In many ways, his _only_ friend. If she needed him, he'd be there. It was that simple.

Not that he expected Xander would be happy about it. Of course, being Spike, Xander's annoyance was a big point in favor of sticking around.

As she finished splinting his fingers, Spike faced Dawn directly. "So what do you plan on doing about this bitch wearing big sisters body?"

Applying liquid bandage cream to seal the numerous cuts on his hands, Dawn didn't look up to meet his eyes. "For now, not much. Gather intelligence. Figure out her plans. Wait for help."

"'_Help'_?!? Who the hell is going to '_help'_ us, pet? The First might be a psycho bitch from hell, but she sure as hell ain't _stupid_! She's got links to everyone and everywhere that counts. Her girls will punish anyone who doesn't toe the party line. This bitch is _pure evil_. She's co-opted the entire government, most of the top industries, pretty much all of the media. Sorta like a miniature version of Haliburton. Money talks, and money backed up by the threat of a slayer ripping your balls off if you don't play along talks even louder. Right now, _you_ are the only opposition she faces. You can't be lookin' for help: you _are_ the 'help' everyone else is looking _for_!"

Even Xander was looking at her like he wondered if she'd slipped a cam. Smiling at them both, Dawn first looked around to ensure that nobody could overhear them, even with all that fancy enhanced slayer hearing. She hadn't dared bring it up before, even though she trusted both men with her life. She had been gone from Cleveland for six months, and so far as she could tell the spell had worked, making the First forget that she was the Key. During all that time Spike had been under interrogation, yet he had never once bought relief by selling her out. He could have done so at any time, as the spell did not work on him. Yet he had _chosen_ not to.

It had shocked her to realize that Xander knew she was the Key. So far as she knew, he was the only 'regular' human who did know. The spell simply ignored him. Buffy had suggested that the spell did not work on humans it trusted, indicating that even the _Key_ trusted Xander. Given such high-powered endorsements, Dawn had no qualms about trusting either man with her _other_ big secret. But until now, it wasn't something Xander had 'needed to know.' With Spike and Illyria located, he now did. They both did. Things would be changing very quickly. "Help _will_ be coming. It's just arriving from a really, _really_ unexpected direction. One I don't think even the First will see coming."

Xander picked it up at that point. She had hinted several times that she had an ace up her sleeve, but had never been quite so explicit about it before. "Who's coming?"

She smiled. "Buffy."

The two men looked at each other, their antagonism temporarily forgotten out of shared concern. Spike tried to be gentle as he pointed out the obvious. "Buffy's _dead_, pet."

Dawn decided that a triumphant smirk was in order. "Since when has that ever stopped _Buffy_?"

Once again the men shared a glance, confusion and a touch of hope in both their expressions, but both remained silent when someone approached. Someone who walked with sharp, intense movements, followed by sudden, unexpected pauses. Illyria and Spike weren't exactly _friends_, but they had reached an accommodation, which wasn't the case with Illyria and pretty much anyone else. She had been ignoring the assembled slayers, observing their behavior, recognizing their power without being even slightly intimidated by it. Some human behaviors interested Illyria, but not many, and Spike had been prepared to bring up the subject of how to care for the de-ascended Old One when he had been diverted by other matters. In this instance, Illyria had found her own item of interest.

An item of intense, profound personal interest.

She was staring at Dawn, her hypnotic blue eyes intense, unusually confused. Her normal expression of distain was absent, speculation and intense scrutiny uncharacteristically apparent. She didn't know who Dawn _was_, but she knew something wasn't right about the young human.

"I know you."


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

Return To Normal

--

**Chapter Eight**

**-- **

It wasn't really a long drive from Denver to Colorado Springs, but long enough for Buffy to do some thinking. She'd enjoyed herself, immensely, but she wasn't certain how much further she wanted to take the relationship with Faith. Of course, it wasn't entirely her decision: she had never met anyone less into 'relationships' than Faith. The original 'get some; get gone' girl, so far as Buffy knew Faith had never been involved in a relationship which lasted more than a few days. That she had gone for a second tumble with Robin Wood back before they attacked the First was unusual, and probably had only happened because of the stress they had both been under. Chances were that Faith wouldn't be exactly desperate for a repeat encounter, and Buffy didn't want to develop feelings which probably would not be reciprocated. Not that Buffy had any objections to it happening again! Faith had been exciting and intense and sensual and passionate. It had been interesting and fun and different, but she wasn't certain she was willing to change her entire life to accommodate the relationship, the way Willow had. For years she had wondered what it would have been like to make love with Faith. Now she knew. And it had been wonderful. But it wasn't… 'The One.'

No matter how awkward it had been, her one time with Angel was still the highlight of her sexual life. He hadn't had sex in the better part of a century and she had been a virgin. They'd been tentative and awkward and fumbling… but the emotional intensity had been _wonderful_. Sex with Spike, by comparison, had been far more physically intense. He was a _machine_, able to bring her to heights of passion she had never thought herself capable of reaching… but the emotional connection hadn't been there. She'd never 'made love' to Spike, not the way she had with Angel. Although the sex had been mind-blowingly better, the lack of an emotional connection bothered her on a deep, fundamental level.

There was still a part of her which still believed you shouldn't 'make love' unless you were 'in love,' and that part of it just hadn't ever been there between her and Spike. He'd certainly tried his best to reach her, to give her what she demanded. But what she had physically _needed_ wasn't what she _wanted_, emotionally speaking. In the back of her mind there'd always been the suspicion that he wasn't making love to _her_; he was Screwing A Slayer. Until, maybe, towards the end…when he came to her after it all fell apart between her and the Potentials, had offered her comfort without reservation. And later, when he had become the man, and the hero, he was meant to be, down in the Hellmouth. But it was all water under the bridge now, because unlike Angel, he was dead, immolated by the fires of whatever had powered the amulet. So she'd never know what might have happened, where their relationship might have gone.

Riley had been…well, Riley. He was a good man, honest and decent, and a part of her wished she could have loved him the way she _wanted_ to love him, the way he deserved to be loved. But she'd been young, and naive. At the time she'd mistaken 'passion' for love, had sought intensity over emotional compatibility. Spike had later showed her the foolishness of her attitude, and the horrors that lie at the end of that road. But her relationship with Riley had also showed her that emotional security wasn't enough. She wouldn't have been satisfied in a relationship without far more passion than he had been able to provide. Faith, on the other hand, brought passion with an intensity only Spike could match. But there had been a _need_ there she found… uncomfortable.

Like Riley, Faith needed more than Buffy felt capable of giving. Sex with Faith, like sex with Spike, had been unbelievably intense… but afterwards, there hadn't been the emotional bonding she found herself seeking. The little things she could see in other relationships which she wanted to experience in her own. The gentle smiles, light touches, or quick glances of reassurance Tara and Willow constantly shared. There could be no doubt they shared an entirely satisfactory sexual relationship –after living with them for awhile, she had far more proof of that fact than she ever wanted to admit—but the part of their relationship Buffy most envied hadn't been their bouts of sexual frenzy. It was the way they constantly looked to each other, the contented silences, the sheer joy they took merely to be in each others presence.

Buffy hadn't said anything, but she hadn't seen any of that behavior in Willow's relationship with Kennedy either, just as she hadn't seen it in her own relationship with Spike… nor had she seen it in what she had just shared with Faith. There was passion –_damn_, had there ever been _passion_!—but she was now mature enough, and experienced enough, to know that passion alone did not a relationship make. She wanted something more. Something that would last once the passion was muted due to time and familiarity. Something that Willow and Tara had shared. Something that, had circumstances been different, she and Angel might have shared. She didn't regret for a second what had just happened between her and Faith, or, truth be told, most of what had happened between her and Spike. But she found herself wanting something… _more_. And wondering if she would ever find it.

Doubling the problem were her own sexual peculiarities. The time had come to acknowledge the fact that when it came to sex she wasn't June Cleaver. Given that she'd just 'done the nasty' with another girl that fact should have been obvious, but it was actually only the tip of the horny iceberg. It was really tough to acknowledge even to herself that it took something more than the missionary position and a bit of finger action to get her off. Nice white girls from the 'burbs weren't supposed to crave certain fetishes in their bedroom activities, none of which could be discussed in polite company. Telling her mom she was a superhero from another dimension was one thing; telling her that she liked a bit of mild S&M during foreplay was a whole 'nother thing entirely!

Perhaps it was the Slayer, or possibly it was her own nature; but Buffy found she enjoyed sex a whole lot more if there was some preliminary rough-housing involved. Nothing extreme; she didn't consider herself to be a masochist. It wasn't 'pain' itself that turned her on, and she liked to dish it out as much at take it. But, she had to admit, if only to herself, that she found something erotic in the 'hunt,' in both the literal and metaphorical sense. It wasn't very nice, but one of the reasons she found vampires disquietingly attractive was their capacity for violence, both inflicting and tolerating it. The sensuality of acting as both predator and prey, facing someone just as powerful and dangerous as herself, was something she found incredibly erotic as an aspect of foreplay.

Scowling as she drove along the well-maintained road out of Denver, Buffy tried to reassure herself that she wasn't 'weird,' or 'disgusting' for finding pleasure in acts most people would consider the opposite of erotic. In her case the fetish wasn't self-destructive, or even an indication of self-loathing. She was a _Slayer_; she could shrug off violence on a scale which would kill most normal people, and she had almost a genetic predisposition towards enjoying the hunt. It wasn't something she ever wanted to talk about --_to anyone!_-- but it was a _fact_, and she would have to deal with the fact that any relationship she wanted to last would have to accommodate her own admittedly unconventional sexual peculiarities. It was also something she really shouldn't be thinking about while driving her mothers' SUV, since she was easily-distracted at the best of times, and a beeping horn warned her to get back into her own lane.

Unfortunately her mind refused to be distracted from the issue. She had to acknowledge that for all the other aspects that made them 'unsuitable' as potential mates, a vampire's ability to tolerate violence made them far more acceptable as sexual partners than a normal person would be, given her own fetishes. But she also had to admit that what had just happened between herself and Faith had been pretty damned good, even without extraneous violence. OK, there had been some _spanking_; but Faith had her own fetishes. Neither one of them were ever likely to win awards from their local church for good Christian morals, but they hadn't hurt each other, or anyone else, and they'd both enjoyed the activities immensely.

It came as quite a relief for Buffy to realize that her fetishes weren't so overwhelming that she was incapable of enjoy sex without violence. For months she had been telling herself that some of the things she had done with Spike were not about 'sex,' but about the need to feel _anything_ beyond an existence she found almost intolerable. As she began to reconnect with her friends, and even to feel something more for Spike than using him as a convenient scratching post, the need to indulge in the more extreme forms of her fetish to achieve satisfaction had lessened. She was fairly certain she wasn't going to turn into a bondage queen. But, she had to face the fact that for her to achieve a lasting relationship, she was going have to do it with someone strong enough to handle a bit of impulsive kinkiness. And, because she wasn't a sadist, she needed someone who would enjoy it as much as she did.

Which left her with a lot to think about as she drove back to Colorado Springs.

It was late by the time she reached her destination. Willow had emailed her a convenient map showing how to find the house she and Tara had moved into, but Buffy had never been there before so it took awhile to find it. The stupid map didn't show how twisty and turn-y the streets were in that part of town, and Buffy actually got lost on side streets on more than one occasion. But eventually she found the place, mostly because there were several vans from local media outlets parked across the street. Unless Willow was living next to a Hollywood celebrity, chances were they were waiting for her. Since they hadn't known she would be returning, this would only be the 'night crew,' just in case she showed up. Buffy was surprised, and wondered how insane it had been during the daytime. Given the revelations about aliens, interstellar war, and the StarGate, she had assumed she'd be all but forgotten. Apparently it would take something on the order of Paris Hilton going missing in the Caribbean after being attacked by a shark for them to be diverted completely.

Taking a quick glance in the mirror to reassure herself that she looked decent, Buffy was relieved to note that she was almost back to looking like herself. Her hair had been bleached blonde and her teeth were restored enough that she could smile without looking like a hockey player, but there was no denying the physical changes she had undergone since her fight at the airport. Looking down at her chest, she could only sigh. Faith hadn't seemed disappointed, but she was annoyed that the whole slayer 'recovery' package didn't automatically include C-cups. Still, she looked reasonably good, which was what mattered most. Buffy _really_ believed in the whole 'leave a pretty corpse' thing.

When she pulled in to Willow's driveway, there was sudden and intense activity as people bolted from the vans, cameras were brought up like shoulder-mounted bazookas, lights suddenly flooded the area, and far-too-perky-for-this-hour-of-the-night anchor-women wanna-be's with visions of networks dancing in their heads began shouting questions. "Miss Summers, could you tell us…"

"Miss Summers, could you tell our viewers…"

"Please look into the camera Miss Summers…"

They were talking over each other, four on-camera people, four camera people, three sound people –one station must have been PBS so the cameraman was forced to be his own soundman for budgetary reasons—and Buffy tried to speak over the cacophony. "Would you mind getting out of the way so I can at least park?"

They did, and after parking her mother's borrowed car she returned to the edge of the driveway, where the gaggle remained behind the property line. A rather decrepit fence marked the boundary, and an iron grate door could be swung across the driveway. The fact that it had been left open for her was probably why they were waiting. So she slowly walked down the gravel driveway, in the glare of the lights, seeing the satellite dishes on the support trucks go up, the lights in some of the neighboring houses come on. Closing the gate in front of her, making the boundary line clear, she nodded politely to the reporters once they stopped trying to speak over each other and finally, with mutually loathing glares, decided that there would be no answers unless they took turns asking questions, and somehow reached an understanding as to who would go first. She was pretty, and wore more makeup than a French whore, but also had the highest number of viewers in the Greater Colorado Springs Television Ratings guide. "Welcome home, Miss Summers. How are you feeling?"

Buffy shrugged. "Not bad. Stomach is a bit sore, but it's coming along fine." Without really thinking about it she lifted her shirt a bit to show the remnant scar on her stomach, six-pack abs clearly defined from all the abdominal exercises she was doing to prevent it from healing wrong. Quickly bringing down the shirt when she realized what she had just done, she hoped she didn't come across as showing off or flirting with the camera. There was some amazed comments and she merely shrugged without commenting on the degree of healing evident.

"So it will heal without leaving any scar at all?"

"Yeah, if I don't do anything stupid and re-injure it. I've got a few where that happened." At least, her old body did, which was something she would rather not bring up. "One of the down-sides of the whole slayer gig is you get hurt a lot. On the other hand, falling in the 'fortunate' category is that the scars usually fade. A bit of a trade-off, there."

She smiled wryly, disingenuously, trying to look cute and aiming for outright adorable. Yes, she was milking the audiences' sympathy, but she suspected she would soon need all the support she could get. Even without paying a lot of attention to the news, it hadn't escaped her notice that a lot of powerful groups were jockeying for position in running the suddenly-transformed world. Some of those groups were not ones she cared to associate with. It took a few more leading answers before she got the questions she wanted. At the airport, Berklyn had been identified by the Doci as a 'prior.' Buffy had referred to his acolytes as 'Priors In Training.' They had been the humans who possessed at least a rudimentary version of the 'thrall,' or the ability to mentally dominate other people. The media had been filled with speculations on the existence of more of those 'PIT's' ever since. It was turning into a frenzy, and people were terrified. She wanted to put a quick stop to that nonsense. "No. I haven't been looking for more Priors In Training, because there aren't any more of them out there." That answer, to a seemingly throw-away question from one of the reporters, caused consternation, and she soon overheard whispered notification over one of their ear-pieces that the broadcast was now going out live over one of the 24-hour news services.

Instead of a puff-piece on 'the Slayer comes home,' the broadcast was suddenly News, and the reporters all knew it. All stood straighter, looked more serious, the gleam of 'network exposure' visible in their eyes. "That's not what we have been told, Miss Summers. State Security and the White House have been warning of possible infiltration by hundreds, perhaps even _thousands_ of these individuals. Their power to cloud peoples' minds and affect their judgment is considered one of the greatest potential threats this country is facing, perhaps second only to the Goa'uld threat itself!!"

Buffy snorted in contempt at the warning, which had been delivered in a tone of breathless excitement strangely at odd with the supposed danger. "That _would_ be the case if there actually _were_ any more of them. But if there _were_ more of them they'd have all been at the airport. The thing at the airport was for all the marbles; they weren't holding anything back. Since there _weren't_ any more of them there, chances are about a hundred percent that there _aren't_ any more of them out there."

"State Security says there are others hiding amongst the population..."

"State Security is full of crap! They're just using it as an excuse for a witch hunt. Everyone who ever pissed them off will suddenly just disappear. Watch who they're probably hauling in. Some congressman is going to say that the only way his precious daughter could have allowed herself to get knocked up was if the guy 'controlled her mind' and made her put out. Some big-money political contributor is going to claim that the only way they would have made some bet and lost all his money was if they other guy used his Mind Control Powers…" she tossed in air-quotes to make the sarcasm obvious "…to make him do it. Some rich athlete is going to say that the only reason they were snorting all that cocaine was because they were being 'forced' to do it, by enemies who knew that only they, and their athletic prowess, could Save America, so were setting them up by using their super mind control powers. Utter, pure, and complete crap. _There aren't any more PiT's_! People are doing stupid things for the same reasons they've _always_ done stupid things; because they're friggin' _stupid_! Nobody is _forcing_ them to do anything. The whole thing is bogus. Deal with it."

Another of the reporters jumped in. "They say they have a way to test for the ability to influence, and are only taking into custody those who..."

Buffy interrupted, more irritated than she thought she would be by having this discussion, even though she'd actively sought it out. "Great! If they do, then they don't need _me_ anymore, and I don't need to out and get gutted again. Pretty amazing of them, though, since no one else, not even the Asgard, have got something which can do that. But, hey, it's all good! If they no longer need me to find them, I'll be putting in for a _loooong_ vacation! On the other hand, since they called me back in so soon after I was damned near _disemboweled_, it would seem that they _do_ still need me. In which case I think we can conclude that State Security is full of it."

The media reps were confounded by her unexpected irritation. Part of the reason for the media saturation regarding Buffy Summers had been her physical appearance. They all understood the reasons; the American television-viewing audience liked Hot Chicks; especially hot chicks who could kick ass. But those 'hot chicks' weren't supposed to have an opinion. They weren't supposed to disagree with their superiors. And by superiors, read 'males.' If anything, Buffy looked even cuter than she had when she made her spectacular entrance at the airport. Tinier, thinner, and it also kind of helped that this time she wasn't covered in blood, with her intestines hanging out, and holding onto a severed head. She was exactly the sort of 'media-friendly' face advertisers were looking for. Career-wise, all she had to do was smile prettily, say a few polite, non-controversial words, and she was looking at multi-million dollar endorsement deals with any company she deigned to shill their product. She didn't seem to understand that this would not happen if she called the government in general, and State Security in particular, lying bastards.

One of the male reporters stepped up to the plate. "I'm uncertain how much of our coverage you have been able to watch, but we have had numerous experts on various shows discussing this issue, and they are virtually unanimous in stating…"

Buffy interrupted him with a contemptuous growl. "What '_experts'_?! There are no 'experts' on this. Everyone is just guessing. And doing a pretty lousy job of it, too. I'm closer to being an expert than anyone else—after all, I did stay in a Holiday Inn Express last night. This thing fails the 'smell test,' and none of you seem to care." She sighed, allowing her frustration to show to the camera. "We just won a huge thing here! We made the Asgard happy and set back the plans of a major potential threat by years, if not decades. But instead of celebrating us winning a major victory, it's been turned into an excuse to do something offensive. Well, offensive to _me_ at least. This has become a witch hunt. I don't do witch hunts. Uh… unless there's an actual witch involved. A _bad_ witch. An evil-type witch. Not a good witch."

After a few more random comments Buffy politely excused herself, before making her way up to the house where Willow was hiding behind the partly-open door. After giving her friend a big hug and assurances that she was fine, recovering nicely thank-you, Buffy basically lost it the moment she saw Tara. They hadn't been that close, and she did try to remember that this Tara didn't know her from Adam. But within seconds she was bawling like a baby, hugging the girl far too tightly, unable to think of anything except the horrible events losing her had precipitated. How their lives might have been different had Tara lived. How someone who, on the surface, seemed not to matter very much in the Great Scheme of Things, could leave such a gaping void in the lives of everyone who knew her. How her loss had caused a succession of events which would lead to pain, failure, and disaster for all of the Scoobies. Luckily Willow must have warned her what might happen, because Tara didn't resist the hug, not even when Buffy used a bit more strength than she should have, and just made soothing noises throughout the babble-fest Buffy unleashed. Nobody understood one word in three. Not even Buffy.

It took awhile for her to gain control over herself, and embarrassingly offer an introduction while she wiped her tears and runny nose off with her forearm. As she should have expected, Tara took it all in stride. Buffy's actions actually made her feel more comfortable and in control than would have been the case had she simply met the girl she had only previously seen ripping the head off of a monster on television. Rather than that intimidating warrior, she was consoling an ordinary girl, prettier than most, who was having something close to an emotional breakdown. When Buffy looked up at Tara with huge, tear streaked green eyes and asked for some pancakes –"Funny-shapes, not rounds"-- Tara's heart went out to her, and whatever potential problems she had been imagining since Willow informed her they would be getting a famous house-guest were unceremoniously tossed aside. _This_ person was the _real_ Buffy, not the gladiator she saw on television, and suddenly everything was right in Tara's world.

While Buffy ate –and regaled them with tales of them eating Tara's pancakes back in Sunnydale—Willow filled her in on events at the SGC since their abrupt and unexpected thrust into the public eye. Everyone was having a difficult time adapting, even though they'd had plans for going public nearly since the beginning of the program. Their freedom of action had been severely curtailed by both public and Congressional interest in their affairs. They didn't discuss it much however, as it was getting late, Buffy still needed far more sleep than usual for her to aid the healing process, and they soon showed her to her room. Like the rest of the house it was in pretty rough shape, cracks in the walls letting wind blow through from outside, but Willow loved the character of the old place, so Buffy didn't complain. Especially since the old bed was comfortable and the thick blankets were warm. Within seconds of lying down she was fast asleep.

---

Early the next morning, after a quick breakfast of leftover pancakes, Buffy asked Willow to take a detour to the airport before heading to the mountain. They were sharing Willow's new Bug rather than have Buffy drive her mother's SUV, Buffy earning a frosty glare when she casually mentioned that "If it wasn't for the whole 'Poland' thing, Adolf Hitler would be most famous for designing the Volkswagen Beetle." Abandoning the topic rather quickly once she recalled Willow's religion, they were discussing how they could get her mom's vehicle back to LA when they arrived at the entrance to airport. Willow had heard via the local media that Thor's Hammer was on display at the public airport, having been brought over from the military side where Buffy had left it by forklift. It was behind armored glass and under armed guard, on a set of scales to show that it really did weigh 28 pounds, but people had a chance to try to lift it using a pulley system. Few people could. TV stations had been amusing themselves showing clips of random people trying. Despite the early hour there were a dozen people or so in line awaiting their turn to try.

Nobody recognized her, and most frowned when Buffy cut through the line to knock on the door of the glass enclosure to get the guard's attention. He glared at her, pantomiming that she should go away, so she scowled back at him. "That's _my_ hammer! I need it back." There was quite a commotion in the crowd, and the guard's eyes went wide in recognition as he rushed over to unlock the door to the enclosure. He was speaking into his walkie-talkie, calling his boss over, just in case there was some question as to whether Buffy would be permitted to take back her own hammer. It wasn't a choice Buffy intended to give them, so as soon as the door was opened she went in, casually picked up the hammer, removed it from the pulley attachment, spun it around a few times balanced on the tip of her index finger, then with a casual swing fastened it to the shoulder harness she was already wearing.

There were a few flashes as everyone with digital cameras took pictures, but Buffy was already leaving when the guy in charge of security arrived. He wanted her to sign some paperwork, which didn't make a whole lot of sense to Buffy since she figured her display with the hammer pretty much confirmed her identity, but rather than argue about it she signed whatever document he handed her for the return of missing property. She did point out that it wasn't luggage, and hadn't been lost on a plane, but the bureaucracy didn't need to make sense: it just needed to Be.

It didn't take too much time before they were finally on their way to Cheyenne Mountain. There was another delay at the main gate while Buffy got a replacement ID card, the various military personnel treating her like she was a conquering hero returning from a glorious victory over the Huns. As they walked from the parking lot to the tunnel entrance every one of the hundreds of soldiers who saw them saluted Buffy, something which had never happened before and she had no idea how to handle. Smiling and nodding seemed appropriate, or was at least deemed acceptable, but Willow had to giggle when a unit marching in formation performed the "Eyes, right!" pass, with the leaders saluting, which normally only happened when one of the senior officers was around.

"I feel like I should whisper in your ear: '_Sic transit gloria mundi_.'"

Buffy looked over at her, confused. "You're going to vomit all over Gloria on a bus this Monday?"

As intended, her translation made Willow laugh. "No, it's a Latin phrase, meaning 'Thus passes the glory of the world.' It translates better into English as '_All glory is fleeting_.' When the Romans threw a parade for a conquering General, they had a slave whisper it into his ear to let him know that even when you're on top of the world, it doesn't last forever."

With a quiet grunt of acknowledgement, Buffy admitted what many, many others had discovered over the succeeding two millennia: "Smart people, the Romans." In truth, she didn't really need the reminder. She doubted her moment of glory would last the hour, let alone continue long enough to inflate her ego. Or, well, inflate it any more than it already was. Even she had to admit that she wasn't exactly modest. 'Hey, saved the world, here!' It was, however, kinda nice to have people acknowledge her standing in their community with such overt displays of respect. She would miss it when those expressions of respect disappeared, as she was certain they soon would. "After my comments to the reporters yesterday, there won't be any saluting by noon. It was nice while it lasted, though."

Willow looked at her a bit uncomfortably. She had watched the morning news and saw what a bombshell her friend had dropped when arriving at her house, and the media was all over it. Even the White House had been forced to make a statement challenging her 'personal opinion.' Like everyone else, Willow had assumed that Buffy was too naïve to realize how much of an impact her words would have, and would have to quickly learn to temper her comments to the media. It hadn't even crossed her mind that the Slayer had done it deliberately. She was a bit embarrassed to admit that even she sometimes underestimated her friend, and despite knowing better she was taken in by the 'dumb blonde' act the Slayer put on to ensure people did exactly that. In some ways it was manipulative. But Willow had to admit, she played fair. If she could use people's own prejudices against them, Buffy had no problem doing so. "Why do it then? You were on top of the world. You know they're going to get on your case about it."

Shrugging, Buffy nodded to the armed guards who saluted her as they entered the tunnel leading into the mountain. "They're going to do that smug, pretentious lecture crap first, 'explaining' how I need to be careful, that 'older and wiser' heads need to deal with these issues and I shouldn't worry my pretty little head about them. Not to mention that I shouldn't say anything to the media about it, or about my opinions, or thoughts, or _anything_ actually. And since they are going to be saying the same thing about stuff that is a whole lot more important than this particular issue once they realize how serious the confrontation with the First is going to be, I want to get this out of the way _now_, while I have the time to deal with it. If there's anything I've learned it's that things always come down to: 'Who has the power?' We're going to have to settle that particular matter right now, because I need to know how pissed off they are going to be when they find out it isn't _them_."

Swallowing on a suddenly dry throat, Willow looked over at her friend, who for once didn't look anything like the sweetly naïve girl she usually strove to appear. Her expression was set, determined, and it was pretty obvious she was expecting fierce opposition to her plans. It was equally obvious she intended to steamroll through any such opposition regardless of who might try to stop her. Willow had seen it a few times when they first met back in Boston, the dark side of the Slayer, the ruthlessly determined intensity of someone adamantly determined to carry out what she saw as her mission. Normally that relentlessness was hidden behind a façade of intellectually-challenged naiveté. Most people never saw beyond that façade, their own prejudices regarding her size and looks preventing them from seeing what should have been obvious. Hammond had told the media that the _Asgard_ had told him Buffy was probably the greatest Slayer who had ever lived. Nobody received an accolade like that from the Asgard if they were a moron. Or a push-over. Willow had the feeling some poor bastard was about to learn that lesson the hard way. Unfortunately, Buffy was also going to learn the hard way that the people she was now facing had their own power, and they were going to push back.

Hard.

Normally, Willow would be worried about how much pressure the government might try to put on her friend. Looking at her set expression, Willow was suddenly a lot more concerned about how hard her friend would push back. Not only did the girl possess her own formidable powers, but the Asgard had made it abundantly clear they considered Buffy's mission to be of overwhelming importance. The SGC had a long-standing policy of treating the slightest hint from the Asgard as instructions from On High. They were Earth's most powerful allies, the planets' best source of technical insight and final protection. It was also a policy far easier to maintain while the StarGate was a secret than it would be now that they were known to the public, with all the attendant political jockeying disguised as oversight. If Buffy pushed so hard the government got their backs up, it might force the Asgard to intervene. Nobody wanted to see where that might lead.

Buffy had been thinking along similar lines. "It's too bad Sif told them it was my idea to have the Asgard threaten to renegotiate their arrangement with Earth. Now too many people have convinced themselves they didn't mean it, that it was just me doing some saber-rattling as a distraction. I'm going to have to convince them that if push comes to shove, the Asgard _will_ back me up."

Relieved to note that Buffy didn't seem truly angry, just a bit irritated, she decided that this matter fell into her prevue as 'The Slayers' Best Friend' and required her advice. Because Buffy was operating under the horrific miscalculation that the government wouldn't do something so 'obviously' stupid just out of pique. Willow needed to dissuade her from that delusion before she backed everyone into positions nobody could get out from. "The Asgard probably will support you, even against the SGC, but are you sure you _want_ them to? Once you go that route everyone else will find ways to go around your back. If you don't want that to happen you're going to have to make some kind of deal, which means horse-trading. You can't just _threaten_ them, Buffy. You need to offer them something in return." Noticing her friends' sour expression, Willow lightly swatted her arm. "Even if you don't think you _should_, or don't think you _have to_, it's the way of the world. Being willing to negotiate now will make things a lot easier in the long run."

Looking over at her, Buffy slowly released a frustrated breath. "Okay. I'll be good. Unless they _really_ piss me off."

She still wasn't getting it. "Uh, newsflash here, Buff. They _will_. It's what they _do_. I've seen it just dealing with academic advisors. Some people have the idea that if you can't beat them on brains or ability, do something to make them fly off the handle, turn it into a circus, and you win by default. You're already out of patience with them, and until now you've been dealing with the SGC who knew they couldn't push you too far so treated you with kid gloves. I've never dealt with politicians, but if they're anything like university administrators, they _won't care _if you get angry, or quit, or do anything which affects the safety of the rest of the planet if the alternative is them losing some perceived standing within their private little empire. Give them something to placate their ego's and it will be fine. But if you are dealing with someone like, say, that Kinsey person I've been hearing so much about, they would rather see the entire world destroyed than give up one iota of their personal power. They'll always win, because they are always willing to sacrifice more people than anyone who isn't as crazy as they are."

Grunting noncommittally, Buffy privately acknowledged that her friend was right. As usual. She pouted. She was getting impatient, and looking for a fight. By talking to the media she had even set one up, knowing the government would freak out over her calling them on their bullshit. But, of course, the end result was that she had just set herself up for a confrontation with people who didn't believe they would ever suffer the consequences of pissing off the wrong people. She had been operating under the assumption that the facts were obvious, and triumphed all other considerations. If she was fighting against the SGC that might even be true. But she was opposing the _government_ this time, and they didn't give a damn about 'facts' or 'truth' or any such rubbish. To them, what mattered was the _spin_ they could put on the story so they came out of it looking good, or at worst weren't left holding the bag, regardless of the consequences. Sighing, Buffy realized she should have discussed it with Willow last night. She wasn't really geared for this sort of combat, either temperamentally or through experience. She had assumed that _she_ held all the cards, and if she went in still believing that, she was going to lose, as Willow was gently reminding her. "What is it they want?"

Shrugging her shoulders, Willow didn't even have to pause to think. "_Power_, of course. Power over you if they can. Another kind of power if they must. Remember they know what they've got in you. These people aren't much into risk when there is a sure thing on the table."

Buffy scowled. She knew what Willow meant. Risk-adverse people wanted huge rewards before they would consider playing against the odds. Or they needed to find out that their 'sure thing' wasn't so certain. She would have to be constantly aware that the government would want, more than anything else, control over the Slayer. Her primary objective had to be to convince them they were _not_ going to realize that ambition, and that attempting to do so would lead to serious consequences. Not just with her, but with the Asgard as well. So, as usual, it all came down to 'carrot and stick.' She hadn't realized she would need so much carrot. Unfortunately, the bottom line was the fact that she cared more about the planets' continued survival than they did. Scowling, her expression frightening the few people in the hallway who didn't know her but knew what she could do, Buffy tried not to pout. She hated politicians. Politicians were the First writ small.

--

So it was without the slightest bit of surprise when she was escorted into the SGC boardroom several hours later that the first thing she saw was Hammond being harassed by Senator Kinsey and a few Pentagon weenies, uniform-wearing politicians who were there to suck up to Kinsey and in general make life miserable for the SGC. Buffy was glad to see them. The average SGC grunt held them in even more contempt than they did Kinsey, and if they tried to back up the Senator, Hammond was going to have a field day challenging _them_. His oath prevented him from doing the same to someone on the Armed Services Committee. But to a man like Hammond, there were other ways to make points he wanted made. There were random greetings and introductions before Kinsey got down to the point, which, as expected, was their '…concern for maintaining a unified message regarding the potential for enemy agents to be infiltrating contemporary American society with the goal of destroying our freedoms and way of life."

Buffy shrugged. "I never said anything about 'enemy agents.' I said there are no more PiT's around. And there aren't."

Sighing theatrically, Kinsey gave Buffy the same look men and boys had been giving her for as long as she could remember; the sad, frustrated head-shake implying she was cute, but dumb as a post for not automatically agreeing with their profound words of wisdom. "How can you _know_ that!? Lets _get real_ here, Miss Summers: there is no way to _know_ if any of these 'mental dominants' continue to walk our streets, coercing people to do their bidding. It just boggles the mind what sort of mischief they might get into, what sort of evil machinations they might be forcing unsuspecting people to perform against their will."

Smiling prettily, Buffy nodded. "Yeah, that _would_ be a problem. If there were any of them. Which there _aren't_. So it isn't. And they aren't."

Kinsey was getting irritated, and glared at Hammond when he dared to attempt to speak. "You don't _know_ that! You might _think_ it, or _believe_ it, but given the danger these creatures represent, that's not good enough. We need to _know_ there aren't any more."

Maintaining her smile, Buffy shrugged. "Fine. Your call. But if anyone asks me, it's a load of bull. Anyone with mental powers like that would have used them to become rich. All of the ones at the airport were. How many millionaires have you picked up as potential PiT's, senator?"

Annoyed that she wasn't getting his point, and even more irritated because he had a fairly good idea that she _did_ get it and was simply ignoring it –or, worse, mocking him-- Kinsey allowed a bit more of his feelings to show in his voice and expression. "It is important to maintain a consistent tone coming from all government voices, Miss Summers. It is the official policy of this government that the potential threat these 'mind rapists' represents cannot be ignored, or wished away with baseless opinions that they have simply disappeared. It is ludicrous to content that we can ignore them now based solely on your unsupported opinion."

Buffy had to hold herself back from shrugging yet again, but didn't even attempt to hide the fact that she didn't care how upset he was with her. "They didn't ask me for the 'official government opinion.' They asked me for _my_ opinion. That's what they got."

"You're not paid to have an opinion, Miss Summers! _You_ work for _me_! You work for the United States government. Your 'opinions' are those you are _told_ to have, and in the future I _will_ expect you to remember that at all times!"

Figuring the fact that he lost his temper meant she had won, Buffy allowed herself a small, slightly patronizing smile, knowing it would just drive him up the wall, and enjoying that fact. "I don't work for _you_, Senator. Technically, I don't even work for the government. I am a contract employee charged with fulfilling a very specific function within the SGC. I'm subject to all the security regulation every other person under contract to the SGC is required to follow, but none of them require me to tow the company line on issues not covered by the security agreement. If you don't like what I say you can terminate my contract, but nothing in there says I can't offer an opinion on public issues. And yes, I _did_ check with a lawyer just to be sure."

Infuriated by the implied middle finger being thrust in his direction, Kinsey glared at Hammond, not quite asking him how he could have been so stupid as to give her such a contract, but the point was implied just by his expression. Hammond had too much self-control to smile, so simply responded with no change in his moderately-respectful expression. "The contracts signed by all civilian employees of the SGC have been mandated by the Pentagon. It's a standard form, Senator; we have no local discretion. The only options we have are varying pay scales. The contracts themselves are standard DOD forms, as was mandated by government regulations."

From his expression, Senator Kinsey was not impressed with that argument. His eyes promised Hammond they would be 'discussing' just how unimpressed he was in the very near future. But, in the meantime, he turned back to face Buffy. "Recent events have forced us to reassess your status within the SGC. Instead of being here to help us take on the Goa'uld, you now want our help to fight this 'First' creature. A being which you claim has 'God-like' powers. Who inhabits a completely different _universe_ from ours! You should know that I see absolutely no reason to involve ourselves in an altercation with a being who has done us no harm, who doesn't even exist in our reality, and whom even the Asgard think is something too powerful to confront. If you are expecting our assistance in your private little war I would suggest you reconsider your attitude, and start to co-operate."

Even knowing it was coming Buffy still was barely able to leash her temper at his threat. Once again she gave thanks for having a friend like Willow, knowing that had the other girl not warned her, she would be throwing a major tantrum right about then. As it was, she knew Kinsey could see the anger in her eyes, and wished she had some of Hammond's self-control. Fortunately, Willow's warning allowed her to maintain her temper. Barely. "I would _never_ ask you to fight a battle you don't feel you have to, Senator. Although I thought the Asgard had already explained to you that if the First succeeds in its plans, you are just as screwed as everyone else. But if you don't want to help me, I'm sure the Asgard will do what they can to assist me. Unlike you, _they_ don't have any doubts about the seriousness of the danger."

"We're already at war with the Goa'uld. Now we're under threat from these Ori jokers. The last thing we need is to pick a fight with yet another powerful alien species."

Buffy frowned at him. "The First is an 'it,' not a 'species.' And the Asgard will tell you that it represents the most serious threat facing you _right now_, including the Goa'uld. If you don't want to fight it, that's your business. But _I_ intend to."

This time it was Kinsey's turn to glare at her. "Are you _insane_?! You are _not_ going to start a war with a powerful alien entity on your own initiative! You will _not_ put this nation or this _entire planet_ on the firing line just to pursue some ridiculous vendetta against this creature. If –and I stress '_if'_—_we_ decide the First represents a threat _we_ need to deal with, the _President_ will make that decision, and not…" he struggled not to say what he wanted to call her "…not _you_."

That was the argument he should have made from the beginning. Even Buffy had to admit some qualms about doing exactly what he was accusing her of wanting to do. But she didn't see any alternative. "Whether or not you decide to declare war on the First, it's already declared war on _you_! Just ask the Asgard. You're trying to make it out to be just something between me and the First, but _everyone_ is involved in this, whether they like it or not. You can't be neutral in this. If the First wins, _you die_! It's that simple. You die; I die; _everybody_ dies. Which is why the Asgard are going to want me to fight it no matter what you decide. They've got their own Quantum Mirror. They will _not_ let you prevent me from doing this. Even if you decide not to help, it would be a really bad idea to try to stop me from doing what I have to do."

She actually made an effort not to make it sound like a threat, but it was one, and everyone in the room knew it. Buffy wished that other SG-1 personnel besides O'Neill were around the table. Jackson, especially, would have tried to act the peace-maker, would have attempted to find common ground and work out a mutually-satisfactory compromise. As it was, they all knew she wasn't going to budge, even Kinsey, but it seemed like he was only arranging the spin he would use to make it all her fault when he went public with the story. And she was giving him exactly what he wanted.

With a theatrical sigh, Kinsey rolled his eyes, and carefully looked to his lapdogs to ensure they witnessed how _hard_ he had tried to accommodate her outrageous demands. "This is the issue we've been having ever since you dropped in on the SGC, Miss Summers. You appear to be operating under the assumption that you, and you alone, can decide _for the entire world_ who we will fight, and where we will fight them, and how we will fight them. You are _not_ God, and it is not for you to decide these things. We _already have_ someone who makes these decisions. And _you_ were not elected."

He was trying to put her on the defensive, and he did have some very valid points. But Buffy had been making life-and-death decisions for a long time, many of them with world-wide impact, and she had come to the rather disconcerting realization that her decisions were generally about as good, and rarely as bad, as those made by most elected officials. It was hard for her not to shrug, knowing it would come across as arrogant, but at this late date she really wasn't going to buy into his argument. "I've never claimed to be God. But it _is_ 'for me to decide these things.' That's what a Slayer _does_. That's why she is Chosen. No, I wasn't 'elected.' But if it came to a vote, the Asgard would out-vote you. Yes, I know there are more humans than there are Asgard; but there are a lot more Asgard than there are _Americans_, and I don't see you giving the Chinese a say in this. The Asgard are the ones pushing this, Senator. I don't understand why you're bitching at me when you should be talking to them if you have a problem with it."

Glaring at her for trying to brush the matter off to the Asgard –who didn't give a damn about his arguments, or his power, and he knew it—Kinsey tried to get things back on track. "So you are 'Chosen' to handle this. Who exactly 'Chose' you for this, Miss Summers?"

Buffy cocked her head, disappointed in him. It was pretty obvious he wanted her to claim that she had been 'Chosen by God,' and bring in a whole crap-load of arguments about religion and delusions of grandeur. It was _not_ a trap she intended to fall into. "Who 'chooses' anyone for anything, Senator? Circumstances, random chance, deliberate selection; who knows? Who cares? However it happened, whoever did it, the fact is: _it happened_. Someone got picked. _I was Chosen_! Deal with it, because it's a reality you can't argue away. Not because I am 'above the law' or dictating policy or wanting to start a war. You have to deal with it because the Asgard will _insist_ that you deal with it. And even if they don't, the _First_ sure as hell will. So there's really no point in getting on my case about this. I'm just a tool they are going to use to get this job done. I have even less choice in this than you do."

He looked irritated, having lost the argument he was setting up for public spin. Instead of claiming Divine right, she had just downgraded herself to 'tool,' and that didn't fit the arrogant, deluded storyline he was spinning. "You can bet that I intend to bring this matter up with the Asgard, the next time I see them…"

There was a brilliant flash of light, and suddenly, right on queue, Thor was standing in the meeting room, short and grey and thin, shocking the two Pentagon officers out of their chairs. His movements were slow and deliberate, conveying a grave sense of dignity despite his naked alien form. "Greetings O'Neill, General Hammond, Miss Summers."

Smiling at his timing, Buffy gave him a split-fingered Vulcan salute and greeted him in return. "_Gnorts_, Mr. Alien." O'Neill couldn't hold back a snort of laughter. He hadn't heard that one in awhile.

Thor appeared confused by the greeting, but noted O'Neill's reaction and wrote it off as a cultural particularity. Which was too bad, because he had actually watched Neil Armstrong walk on the moon _from_ the moon. He paused while Hammond introduced the others. Nobody in the room had the slightest doubt that the alien knew exactly who they were, up to and including what they had eaten for breakfast every day for the past decade. He didn't offer to shake hands, although he knew the human custom, and might have done so were those being introduced different people.

When Hammond asked what brought him to Earth, Thor held up his hand, a light from his transporter system flashed, and a small box appeared. "We have managed to reverse-engineer the Ori psychic inhibitor field generation device. I apologize for the delay. It took considerable time to come up with a design your own relatively crude level of technology could mass-produce. The instructions and blueprints for the manufacturing process are contained in the embedded memory chip in this device, which we have built specifically for Miss Summers. The technology is far more advanced than the standard model, and is embargoed according to our treaty with Earth. I should caution you all that by 'specifically' I mean no one but Miss Summers may use it. It would be very unwise for your people to attempt to examine it."

He presented Buffy with the small device, demonstrating that it worked like the mp3 player whose design they had copied, and he appeared somewhat bemused by the fact that she seemed far more concerned with its fashionabilty rather than its functionality. After their earlier experience with Buffy Summers this should not have surprised him, but it was so outside his experience, even when dealing with other humans, that he was continually baffled by her priorities. How someone like her could have achieved all that she had was a source of continuing amazement to the Asgard. And like all things that amazed the Asgard, it was something they studied very, very carefully.

O'Neill had been under strict orders to remain silent during the 'discussions' with Buffy, but he decided they didn't apply to dealings with Thor. "How did it go on your end with the Ori, Thor ol' buddy? We monitored some serious explosions in the outer solar system while Buffy was pounding on the Doci, so we know you kept them off our back. Thank you for that, by the way. I know you had an arrangement with Buffy, but I'm wondering what it cost you."

Coloring slightly in embarrassment, Buffy wished she had remembered to acknowledge the price the Asgard had been willing to pay to defend earth while she got them the pendant housing the psionic device. After quickly nodding to O'Neill in gratitude for the reminder, she turned back to Thor. "And did the Replicators hurt you too bad while your fleet was defending us against the Ori?" The comment was intended more to remind the Senator how much they owed the Asgard, and if he really wanted to piss them off by interfering with their plans.

"As we had hoped, the battle caught the attention of the Replicators, who investigated and discovered that some of the technology within the Ori fleet was different than any they had previously encountered. None of the Asgard ships possessed similarly unique technological enhancements. Deliberately so, of course. The Replicators immediately attacked the Ori fleet. This came as quite a relief, as we had already lost seventeen ships during the course of the battle. At that point we had destroyed fourteen Ori ships, which might give you an idea of the relative strengths of the respective designs. Given the overwhelming Ori advantage in total hulls available at the start of the battle, this is probably the only time in history that an Asgard fleet has been 'rescued' by the Replicators. They then followed the Ori back to their host galaxy, and continue to test Ori defenses on their 'home turf,' to use an Earth expression.

"Since then we have also been mass-producing the psionic disruptors and providing them to subject races within Ori-dominated space, using stealth ships. Between ourselves and the Replicators, we have caused considerable inconvenience to the Ori."

Kinsey took that as an opportunity to butt into the conversation. "That's a relief. At least we don't have to worry about facing another enemy while we're concentrating on the Goa'uld."

It was meant to be a sarcastic jab at Buffy, but Thor either didn't understand that or, more likely, didn't care. "The Ori will quickly adapt, as will the Replicators. Hopefully, _we_ will be able to as well. We estimate that within little more than ten of your years we will face a more powerful Ori threat returning to our space. They will seek to destroy both our races to prevent us from providing any distraction from their new-found –and far more threatening--confrontation with the Replicators. We have bought some time; but the future implications are somewhat disconcerting. Unfortunately, as most of us in this room have learned to our chagrin, this is often the case when immediate tactical needs must be addressed regardless of their long-term strategic consequences."

Buffy reassessed her thought that Thor hadn't cared about Kinsey's crack. His not-so-subtle knife to the ribs about the Senators' lack of military experience –or Buffy's equivalent—wasn't missed by anyone. Certainly not by Kinsey, whose expression looked a bit sour, but who was smart enough not to say anything about it. It was one thing to use his position to intimidate government workers who couldn't really fight back. Nobody was sure what an Asgard might do if it took offense to some smart-assed remark by even a fairly high-ranking diplomat. There were many who claimed the Asgard were beyond anything so mundane as 'taking offense.' Few at the SGC believed that to be an entirely accurate assessment of their emotional state. But even if it was true, and the Asgard weren't _really_ offended, they tended to punish those who irritated them as if they _had_ been offended if only to discourage the reappearance of said annoying behavior. So the results were the same. Whatever his other faults, Kinsey wasn't foolish enough to think his position would prevent the Asgard from slapping him down hard if they felt so inclined.

His point having been made, Thor politely bid them _adieu_ and disappeared in a burst of light. The distraction of his visit had forced Kinsey to reassess his campaign strategy. Clearly, the Asgard were going to support the girl's efforts, no matter what the government wanted. The presentation of an Asgard-designed-and-built device right in front of his face also meant they likely now had the means of monitoring her, and would take immediate action should the government move to prevent her from acting despite their wishes to the contrary. Nor was there a damned thing they could do about it. Cheyenne Mountain was among the best-defended sites on Earth, and the Asgard could 'beam in' at will. There was nowhere they could put her that the Asgard couldn't get her out of, and simply killing her, well, that was probably not a good idea on _sooo_ many levels. So, if she was determined to fight this 'First' thing, there wasn't much they could do to stop her. But Kinsey had never really expected they would be able to. That hadn't even been his real objective. What he wanted to do was to frame the mission parameters so that he –and the President, of course—got all the credit if she succeeded, and none of the blame if she failed.

"Consider your point made, Miss Summers. However, if you _do_ act without government sanction, then you do so _without_ government resources. In other words, no backup team. No support team. No documents or pre-built 'brain shield' devices. You try to do this on your own, then you are _on your own_. Completely. How does that grab you?"

Buffy appeared to consider his words. Both O'Neill and Hammond expected her to blow her top –and they figured Kinsey did as well-- so they were all surprised when she simply sighed. "I hate to say it, but that's probably for the best, Senator. There are things in my world you people just aren't ready to face. I guess you already know that magic works there. _Evil_ magic, the kind that can kill. Yeah, I'm sure the SGC would like to study something like it, if only to learn how they might defend against it should someone use it against them, but I can't help but feel that there is too much danger such knowledge could get out and be used inappropriately. Even 'good' magic can be abused. For example; my friend Willow can convert lead into gold just with some potions and a few mystical words." Everyone could see Kinsey's ears perk up at this tantalizing bit of information, but Buffy wasn't finished. "The economic implications of transfiguration of base metals is something you will really have to study, so that you can assess the potential impact before word of even the possibility of it occurring gets out and causes market chaos." She paused, hoping the senator hadn't studied her closely enough to realize that she barely understood what she had just said, and was simply quoting Willow.

"And that's not even the worst." She was speaking directly to Kinsey now, and her wide-eyed, earnestly vacuous expression might be misinterpreted by those who didn't know her as too naïve to discern the greed in Kinsey's eyes. "There are spells back home which can make a man virtually immortal. Mystical glamour's that can make him brilliantly intelligent, irresistible to women, incredibly competent at everything he _does_, anything he even _tries_; a veritable real-life _Superstar_! I don't know if they would work in this universe, but we all know that things were changed so that a Slayer can exist here, so that sort of magic might now be _possible_. And nobody in this reality has any defenses against those sort of spells! The danger of inadvertently allowing such power loose on an unsuspecting populace are too great to ignore! So great that I cannot, in good conscience, ask you to take such a risk."

She released another elaborate sigh, not looking away from Kinsey, not daring to glance towards O'Neill or Hammond, knowing what she would see in their eyes. "I _do_ realize that it would _really_ improve my odds of success if your government were to help me. The knowledge they might gain could also turn out to be _incredibly_ useful in designing defenses against the Goold, and later for when the Ori return. And God only knows that helping me would make the Asgard happy! But the potential danger is just _too high_!" She was going to say more, something about how an unscrupulous rogue could use such magic to become _anything_ he wanted --even, say, President of the United States-- but figured being so explicit would be just a bit _too_ un-subtle. From the look on Kinsey's face, she figured she didn't need to say the words. He was getting the message just fine all on his own. "So if you recommend that the President not allow the SGC to help me, I'll _understand_. Personally I believe the benefits outweigh the risks, but I can certainly see why you might think differently."

Her eyes were huge and innocent, her voice whisper-quiet and loaded with an undertone of maidenly fear, but such firm determination to carry on regardless, that there wasn't a man in the world who wouldn't have gladly stood up and promised to ride off on their steed to kill the offending dragon just for the favor of her glance. Had it been anyone but Kinsey being played, O'Neill would have hurled all over the concrete floor. Despite that, even knowing she was doing it deliberately, O'Neill wasn't surprised in the slightest when Kinsey left soon afterwards promising to inform her of the President's decision. He also didn't have the slightest doubt as to what that decision would be. Glaring at her, he folded his arms over his chest in an intimidating pose. "You oughta be ashamed of yourself, young lady! Okay, telling him he could be superstud using magic that doesn't even work in this universe is one thing. But that thing with the eyes? That was _embarrassing_."

She smiled a bit at O'Neill's pretense of offended disgust. "Do you think it worked though?"

"Are you kidding?! _Of course_ it worked! Hell, even knowing you were playing him, _I'd_ have friggin' agreed to do whatever you asked. Uhm… that magic stuff won't really work here, will it?"

Buffy covered her face with both hands, rubbing her lips, trying to wipe the bad taste from her mouth. It didn't go away. "I don't think so. I'm told that the changes were made specifically to allow a Slayer to exist here. I don't know if that will have any effect on permitting other magic to work. If it does, I think it will be pretty limited. But I was told by someone a lot smarter than me that I had to offer him some incentive to cooperate or he'd have tried to stop this thing just out of spite."

With a quick nod, as if he had just won a bet with himself, O'Neill looked over towards Hammond. "You really are going to have to give Rosenberg a raise, sir."

"Consider it done." The General had also been expecting Buffy to blow a gasket, had in fact been seriously concerned about it, and had been amazed when she not only kept control over herself, but had zeroed in on Kinsey's weak points: his greed, and his ambition. He was rather proud of her for that, but also somewhat surprised. Despite his best efforts at demonstrating negotiating techniques, so far she had shown few signs of meeting such challenges with anything except threats of violence or displays of anger. Given the level of political interest in her ever since the events at the airport, neither would do her much good any longer in her attempts to achieve her goals. Like it or not, at the level she was now playing, ultimatums weren't going to cut it. That she had finally realized that simple fact was as welcome as it was unexpected. He couldn't help but notice that she didn't seem happy about it. "You did well, Miss Summers. This could have gone very badly for all of us. Offending the Asgard for no good reason would not endear them to us, and they are already a bit upset with us over some of our recent decisions."

Scowling, Buffy considered her reasons for feeling a bit disgusted with herself rather than proud or herself for escaping what could have been a disastrous trap. "I _played_ him! I didn't _convince_ him, or make him understand the need to do what I wanted. I saw his weakness and _manipulated_ him! I don't think that's something I should be proud of."

Smiling without humor, O'Neill waved his fingers at her. "_Wrong_. Be proud. You did good. Welcome to the Big Leagues, kid."

When he said nothing else, the General followed up. "Colonel O'Neill is correct, Miss Summers. Ethical or not, when dealing with people like Senator Kinsey you had better be prepared to play on his emotions, his weaknesses, or you will fail. Like it or not, manipulation is part and parcel of the art of negotiation, and if you're not willing to play by the established rules you will inevitably lose out to those who are willing to do so. That is the reality, and you ignore it at your peril."

Giving a quick shake of her head to acknowledge that she heard his words, Buffy didn't look up at the two men, more interested in staring at her hands, apparently wondering who they belonged to. "It might be good tactics, but it's not _me_. Not the way I do things. Not the way I _want_ to do things. And the fact that I did it that way means I'm changing into something different than the 'me' I was, the 'me' I want to be."

O'Neill didn't see the problem. "You're _growing up_. Congratulations."

"It's not that simple for a Slayer, Jack. Slayers don't really 'grow up.' They usually die long before they have a chance to 'grow up,' emotionally speaking. When a Slayer changes her personality it's because she needs to adapt to meet the challenge of the next Big Bad. Her power isn't constant; it will vary depending on what she'll need to defeat whatever it is she is about to face. We're usually at least partly psychic, so often have a bit of advanced warning about how powerful the next Big Bad is likely to be before we face it directly. You wouldn't believe the things I had to do to beat Adam! The powers I needed. I was _waaay_ more powerful than I was when I took out the Master. And I was a lot stronger facing the Master than when I went up against Lothos. Even that much power won't be enough this time around because magic doesn't work here. So I'm changing in other ways. I've been noticing it for awhile. I'd hoped it was just a temporary thing. My personality… the way I act. The way I… _am_. I wasn't like this, before. I used to be… different. Happier. I've been… depressed… for a long time. I haven't told you why. But you need to know."

She took a deep breath before finally meeting their eyes. "I've been kind of messed up ever since I _died_. Not the first time, I mean the time before the one that brought me here. When I fought Glory. She was the one who was searching for the Key. She was the reason they sent the Key to me for protection. I did what I had to do, but just barely. I died doing it. Only without me, things got really bad for the people left behind. So about six months after they buried me, my friends performed an ancient spell to…well, _resurrect_ me. They ripped me out of Heaven to bring me back. I had to dig my way out of my own grave. It was… unpleasant."

She explained to the increasingly horrified soldiers the events leading up to Glory's defeat, and its horrible aftermath. They suddenly realized another reason the Asgard were so adamant about helping Buffy take on the First. How many other people were there who had actually defeated a _god_? Neither man thought Glory was anything like God-God, but the Asgard had explained that a 'god' was a creature immune to the paradoxes of exercising its own power. A god could change history, and emerge unaffected. But, as powerful as they were, a 'god' wasn't on the same level as God. As in 'who art in Heaven.' Although many were not overtly religious, very few soldiers didn't believe in God in some form, and what she described met their definition of an abomination. Heaven was a Divine reward for a life of service, a reward they both felt she had more than earned. To be torn out in such a way, to awaken entombed within her own casket, was a horrifying abuse of everything they believed in. It was difficult for them to believe that _Willow_, who was rapidly becoming a favorite at the SGC for her enthusiasm and brilliance, could do something like that, in _any_ reality.

As interesting as it might be, the Glory episode was not the point Buffy was trying to make. "I thought the changes I saw in myself were just being depressed. That I'd get over it. Ever since they brought me back I've found myself doing things I never thought I'd do. Act in ways I never thought I'd act. I used to be _soooo_ different; nicer, and funnier, and happier, and I kept thinking that once I got over what happened I'd go back to the way things used to be, the way I used to be. But I _haven't_ gotten over it. I am _not_ changing back to the way I was. And it's not just the whole 'leaping into Elizabeth's body' thing either. This has been going on for a long time. Over two years now. Even before I came here. I'm _changing_. Becoming harder, less emotionally connected, less… _human_. I've been having dreams about the First almost since this started. From the moment I realized I would be going up against the First. The Slayer in me knows how powerful it is, and I'm changing to become strong enough to face it. And that's not good, because I'm becoming a _real_ Slayer."

She hissed the word like it was a profanity. The two men looked at each other in confusion, until O'Neill asked the obvious question. "Uhm, aren't you _already_ a Slayer?"

"Not like _this_! Not like _she_ was! Not like _they_ wanted me to be! All this happened because I turned them down. Those bastard Shadowmen and their misogynic arrogance. They treated the Slayer like a _tool_, to be used as they saw fit! Yeah, they'll give you _power_; but at a horrible cost. It was nothing short of _rape_! Whatever was left of 'me' would have been cast out to make way for the demon, an instrument of their power and wrath. An automaton, a killing machine; nothing more than a fucking _golem_! That's what they did to the First Slayer. What is happening to me now isn't as bad as _that_, but the end result will be almost the same. I'm turning into something I'm not. Something I don't _want_ to be!"

O'Neill didn't know what to say, didn't really understand what she was talking about, so silently made it clear he was leaving this one up to Hammond. The General kept his voice calm and concerned, not knowing what she meant, but knowing it was vitally important to a girl he was becoming extremely fond of. "You have been very clear about how dangerous the First is, Buffy. Surely _anything_ which improves your odds of defeating it is something we should embrace?"

She tried to explain, her voice cracking. "You don't know what the First Slayer was like! What they did to her. They basically turned an innocent girl into a killing machine. _I don't want to become a machine_!" The cry was unexpected; the pain and fear behind it less so. A civilian would have misinterpreted the meaning behind it. Both of the men in that room understood, finally realized what she feared. In their own way, both had faced something similar.

Choosing his words carefully, Hammond tentatively broached a subject he had been discussing with the staff psychologists for some time. "Buffy, we still don't understand much of what a 'Slayer' is, but we do know a fair bit about what it means to be a _soldier_. And _that_, whether you like the word or not, is what you _are_: a soldier fighting an unending war against a powerful enemy. It is a war you have been fighting far too long, with too little time off to regroup and recover. You have told us many times about how short the life expectancy of a Slayer is, and I don't doubt you for a minute. Human beings simply are not capable of handling this sort of stress for years on end. The older you get, the more stressful it becomes, and the harder it is to deal with it. But in your own way you are a _soldier_, and you are _at war_, so you _must_ deal with it. You adapt in ways you might not like. You _change_. The way you look at the world changes. The way you act and think and see yourself changes. Perhaps the changes you are presently experiencing are unique to a Slayer, but I don't believe this to be the case. Or not entirely, I should say. You meet all the criteria for Post Traumatic Stress, and it comes as no surprise to anyone who has dealt with PTSD that you are changing in ways you might not like."

After a few seconds of silence, while Buffy considered his words and struggled to gain control over her own fears, O'Neill cleared his throat, not wanting to speak, knowing that had there been anyone else in the room he would not have been able to, before quietly speaking of his experience in Iraq during the first Gulf War. The covert mission that went to hell. His capture. Some of the things that happened afterwards. What he had had to do to escape. What it had done to him; the change in his personality which had been the beginning of the end of his marriage, the pain leading to an inattentiveness which might have inadvertently caused the death of his son. Guilt overwhelming him to the point where he had considered suicide as a viable option to escape it. In some ways he might as well have done so. He wasn't the man he had once been. He would never be that man again. Post-traumatic stress was as insidious as it was overwhelming "There's no way back from it, Buffy. There's no way you can 'unsee' the things you've seen, 'undo' the things you've done. You can only go forward. Maybe this _is_ some kind of Slayer thing, but it isn't _that_ much different than the rest of us go through. It isn't pretty, and it isn't fun, and it sure as hell isn't _fair_. But it _is_ human. And you _do_ have some control over what you will be once you've become whatever it is you're turning into. It takes time and effort and support from the people who care for you. But you _can_ handle this. Even if you can't _stop_ it, you do have some power, and some choice."

Although she hadn't quite broken down in tears, Buffy had been pretty upset with the realization that she had been kidding herself with the delusion that what had been happening to her was a 'temporary' thing she would eventually 'get over.' But Jack's words helped. A lot. Just the realization that what she had assumed was a situation unique to Slayers was in fact something many, many others had experienced made it somehow, if not better, then at least bearable. Once again she had been acting like a _prima donna_, thinking she was so special nobody else could possibly understand what she was going through. She should have realized from Willow's comments regarding her own experiences that, no matter how unusual her situation was, others would have a valid analogue. She might be _unique_, but she wasn't _alone_. Knowing that words couldn't convey her gratitude, or express her regret that her friend had been forced to speak of things he would rather have left unspoken, Buffy reached over to squeeze O'Neill's hand. It was more than simply a 'thank you.' Jack understood the meaning of the gesture, and knew that as hard as it had been for him to speak of his experiences, it had been the right thing to do. It was what you did to help out a friend.

Meeting her eyes, knowing they would probably never speak of this again, Jack squeezed back. "You also have to put it into perspective. Never tell anyone this, but Daniel once told me that when he was nine years old, he saw his aunt naked. She was in her 70's." After shuddering in horror, Jack resumed speaking. "My god, can you imagine how that would _traumatize_ a kid?! Scarred him for life, it did. Nothing you or I will _ever_ see could come close to the sheer horror of it! That being said, I speak from experience when I say you need to keep busy. Next to a long vacation, nothing helps more than thinking up ways to slaughter the son of a bitch that did this to you. You've got a mission and an agenda. So lets get to work. What are your priorities? What do you need? What do you want to do? What do you need to know?"

Smiling, if a bit tremulously, and feeling considerably better –not happy, and far from relieved, but at least a bit comforted with the realization that the Shadowmen didn't _have_ to win, Buffy considered Jack's suggestion, telling herself to get a grip because the First wasn't going to go away. No matter how tired she was, no matter how much she just wanted to sleep, the cold hard fact of the matter was that her sister was in danger, and she were counting on her. _Everyone_ was counting on her. Conceited she might be, but part of being the Chosen One meant you were the one who had to suck it up when things got tough, and do what had to be done. She figured she needed to do something useful, but relaxing. Or at least something _she_ found relaxing, because she had always been proud of her martial arts skills.

Which reminded her of Teal'c, which in turn reminded her of something she had been thinking about for awhile. "Just to let you know: I wasn't kidding about Willow being able to change lead into gold. She doesn't bother, because it's really hard to do; well, a lot harder than simply stealing it. But she _can_ do transformation spells in order to create things that are real hard to get any other way. For instance, if you provide a sample, she could whip up a batch of _tretonin_." O'Neill's sharply indrawn breath confirmed the importance of her offer. "His snake will be hatching in less than a year. From what I understand, without it, he'll die. Unless he gets some tretonin. Well, it just so happens I know a place you might be able to make a deal to get some. Not for free –Willow will probably take you to the cleaners once she finds out how badly you want it—but it _will_ work, and give you a reliable alternate supply. If we win. And to win, I am going to have to quit moping. What I really need is somebody really good at unarmed combat to train me how to fight."

Both men looked at her in confusion, still thinking about the drug that might keep Teal'c alive once his Goa'uld symbiote came to term, and not expecting the sudden shift in subject. "_You_ want to be trained how to fight?! You took down _Teal'c_ in a fair fight! Bruce Lee would have a tough time fighting you! Hell, I don't just mean 'risen-from-his-grave, Zombie Bruce Lee.' He'd have had a tough time fighting you even _before_ he died! There isn't a helluva lot you don't already know about unarmed combat!"

"When I go back, I'll be facing other slayers. Slayers who have had the opportunity to fight _other_ slayers. _I_ was trained by a Watcher, who was really good at it and followed a training regime worked out over centuries, but who couldn't actually _do_ any of the moves he taught me. If you have a bunch of slayers, testing themselves against each other, I figure they could go beyond the Watcher teachings pretty quickly. I've faced another Slayer in combat, and have a pretty good idea how tricky we can be. Slayers are generally faster and stronger than all but Master Vampires. If I have to fight another slayer, I want to be able to surprise them with something beyond the Watcher training manual. Because they sure as hell are going to be able to surprise _me_."

Hammond was smiling thinly, and from the irritated look in his subordinate's eyes he figured Jack realized exactly who he had in mind to help Buffy out. "It just so happens I know someone who might be able to do just that…"


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

Return To Normal

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**Chapter Nine**

**-- **

Illyria had been staring at Dawn for weeks with a quizzical expression, her head cocked to one side, her enormous blue eyes unnaturally intense. Of course there was always something 'unnatural' about her eyes. The human form she referred to as her 'shell' was just a façade, an anthropomorphic exoskeleton covering up innards even less human than what was inside one of Warren's robots. Illyria was an Old One; one of the original demons of the pure blood, born of an age before they had interbred with humans. In her natural form, Illyria's powers were god-like. She could manipulate the flow of time, could open dimensional portals using only the power of her mind, was virtually invulnerable to any conceivable weapon. Even other Old Ones trembled before her awesome majesty, until, like wild dogs turning on their master, they one day combined forces to bring her down.

Even millennia later, Illyria was shocked they had been able to do so. She had taken extensive precautions, and her enemies were not renowned for their ability to cooperate, or plan ahead. It was only during the millennia she had dreamed away during her time in the Deeper Well after being deposed that she came to the understanding that her opponents had been doing the bidding of the First. Illyria's own plans for dominating all lesser beings would have interfered with the First's ambitions, so she had to be stopped, despite both of them being on the 'evil' side of the Balance.

It was her refusal to abide by the terms of the Great Convention establishing the Balance which had earned the First its name. The logic behind the Balance –to maintain roughly equivalent proportions of 'good' and 'evil' in order to force the evolution of lesser lifeforms towards Ascension—was unassailable, given the obvious fact that it _worked_. But the First didn't care if lesser races evolved or not. Since its ultimate objective was to return to universe to its pre-Inflationary state, which none of the lesser races could survive, it saw no point in worrying about 'guiding' them with the ludicrous dictates of the Balance. For defying them, the Elder Gods considered the First to be truly 'evil.' The very First Evil. It was a name the First accepted with pride.

Technically speaking, Illyria had been on the side of 'evil' when the First arranged for her to be deposed. Jasmine had been, technically, on the side of 'good' when the First arranged it so that her opponents were able to defeat her as well. Had Jasmine succeeded in her plans, the First's own ambitions would have been neutralized. Fortunately her methods had so upset others on the 'good' side of the ledger that they had allowed the First to use their Champion to destroy Jasmine before she could do too much harm. It wasn't the first time the First had assisted the 'good' side, for its own reasons. Not having to restrict her actions to support one side or the other in order to maintain a metaphysical Balance, the First was able to betray Illyria, despite being on 'her' side. It was a lesson Illyria would have taken to heart, had she not suffered a fatal case of death for the next few dozen millennia immediately afterwards. Learning that her ancient betrayer was back, and prepared to bring its long-term plans to fruition, created a sort of internal rage even greater than that Illyria had been feeling about everything else in her reduced existence ever since her return from the Deeper Well.

Under ordinary circumstances, Illyria would be obligated to support 'evil' against 'good' under the strictures of the Great Convention. But when it came to the First, the normal restrictions did not apply. Even had that not been the case, Illyria would have refused to support its old enemy, not only due to old animosities, but out of irritation over having been restrained for the past year in one the First's laboratories. Illyria could not be tortured as the vampire had been, since she did not feel 'pain.' But being rendered completely immobile for an entire year while the local equivalent of witch doctors and shamen poked and prodded its shell was an indignity Illyria would not soon forget. Or forgive.

In this instance, Illyria might be permitted to indulge her rage, even if that did technically put her on the side of 'good.' Given Dawn Summers' intimations that she would soon to receive the sort of help it would take beings of considerable power to arrange –Beings such as the pathetic Powers That Be, perhaps—Illyria had to consider the likelihood that Beings capable of enforcing their will were observing the events she appeared to be witnessing. Given her reduced circumstances, those Beings would be more than capable of punishing her should she violate any of the applicable laws. However, given the curious aura surrounding Dawn Summers, Illyria was starting to believe that she would be given whatever leeway she wanted in order to oppose the First, so long as she supported Dawn Summers.

It was more than slightly offensive that a Being such as herself was restricted to following the whims of what appeared at first glance to be nothing more than one of the pestilent slime which had infested this world since the time of the Old Ones. Never before had Illyria been so reduced that she voluntarily acceded to someone else's demands. She had deigned to cooperate with her former companions opposing the Wolf, Ram, and Hart, since her 'shell' continually infected her mind with intimations that Wesley had been worthy of more respect than what she afforded the remainder of the human horde. To her surprise, subsequent events had proven the 'shell' correct in its assessment. Given that, Illyria was prepared to consider the possibility that Dawn Summers was an equally superior example of the otherwise-useless biological slime. But in this case external considerations were mostly irrelevant. Illyria found that she herself, without any apparent externally imposed influence, was prepared to accept the ludicrous possibility that Dawn Summers was not just a slightly superior form of slime, but was actually worthy of genuine _respect_.

'Respect' was usually the last word she thought of when considering the pestilence. Even Wesley, the finest example of their possible development, was not worthy of an emotion such as 'respect.' Granted, she noticed the fact that he was no longer present… but only the way she had 'noticed' when a particularly amusing pet was no longer under foot after having performed its pack behavior of submitting itself to her dominance for an extended period of time. Any 'feelings' of regret, of loss, the occasional lapse when she somehow 'forgot' and thought, if only for a fraction of a second, that she should seek out her Guide for clarification on a matter of interest… those were unworthy of her. Irrelevant. An obvious flaw, somehow imposed by the Shell, which she would excise in due time. As soon as she found that flaw. Which she had never been able to. Despite intensive efforts to do so. It was… _irritating_… that a barely-sentient being she had known for only a short interval over the millennial extent of her life would leave such a gaping hole in her existence.

The others, despite fighting at her side against the bestial legions unleashed by the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart, did not merit such consideration. They might have, given that the scope of their ambition was itself worthy of respect. The one called Angel had sought to teach a lesson to the Gods themselves. The puny, insolent pup had merited his fate, not only for daring such an act of impudence, but for the pungent smell of the harsh chemicals he had used to ensure that his cranial fur maintained its odd shape. His war had cost Wesley his life, which by itself should have merited his demise, had not Wesley himself been thoroughly in favor of the action. The other half-breed was even less worthy of survival, the stench of the harsh chemicals he used to alter the coloration of his cranial fur being even more offensive than his refusal to grant her even the barest minimum of her due deference.

He hadn't been completely 'dead' when the reinforcements finally arrived, enhanced human females more than capable of handling those vermin which still survived, so it had been easier to carry him away from the zone of carnage rather than to leave him available for them to interrogate. It had been foolish of her not to abandon him soon afterwards. At the time she had seen some utility in having a substitute Guide, even one of such marginal ability and dubious intelligence. Looking back it was apparent their combined distinctiveness –what some might call 'oddity'-- which had attracted the attentions of the First. The one called 'Spike' had been nothing but trouble from the time they met. His mentor even more so, although this had not been apparent at first glance. Despite the magnitude of their achievements, she had deemed neither worthy of any status other than slightly-less-useless-than-usual muck. Unlike Wesley, who had been…

Enough. The Guide was dead.

It was bad enough that she was –sometimes, when she forgot-- elevating one of the slime to a status far beyond his station. But it seemed to be happening again, and for someone far less worthy than Wesley. Wesley had been her _Guide_. Proximity alone encouraged familiarity, occasionally equating to inordinately increased status. But for some reason, Dawn Summers had been elevated to, if not the status of an _trusted servant_, then at least that of an advisor worthy of being listened to. This was the first time she had ever deigned to bestow such a status upon one of the slime –including even Wesley. And she had no idea why the human merited such consideration.

Illyria did not have what humans called a 'subconscious.' There were no hidden thoughts which influenced her actions. What she knew, she knew. What she did not know either was not important, or was information she would ascertain when needed. Conferring such status on Dawn Summers without knowing the precise reason she did so was unusual, to say the least. Unprecedented even, if only because she had never before found any of the slime worthy of such consideration. Discovering exactly _why_ she was giving this particular unit of the pestilence a status apparently far above its station was her highest priority, but despite deep consideration, she hadn't been able to identify a suitable reason. Had she possessed the full range of her powers, Illyria was confident she would have quickly found an answer. But without those powers, she was limited to gaining information using senses little more discriminating than those possessed by the slime.

It was… _frustrating_. For a Being such as herself –once a veritable god in both power and ambition—to be reduced to such a state was aggravating in the extreme. Only the certain knowledge that, eventually, Illyria would find a way to resume her throne and status enabled her to tolerate her present circumstances. That, and the example of Glorificus, once almost the equal of Illyria in her own dimension, trapped and reduced to barely more powerful than the slime when confined to this one. The fragile human shell could not contain power of such magnificence. Although Glorificus herself had never impressed Illyria with her intellect, the sheer depths of her viciousness had been worthy of a certain degree of respect. Seeing such a Being reduced to the pathetic remnant capable of being housed by her shell of slime had been profoundly disturbing. Finding herself in a similarly reduced circumstance was even more so.

Illyria had attempted to increase the tolerance of the shell by disposing of most of the human element, liquefying the internal biological systems, retaining the basic form but vastly enhancing the functional capacity of the unit. Unfortunately even those improvements were incapable of withstanding the energy the shell was being asked to contain. Wesley and his companions had been forced to artificially reduce her energy reserves –and concurrent abilities—to a level which _could_ be maintained by that shell. That level was even less than Glorificus had been reduced to in terms of raw power, although fortunately she possessed an order of magnitude more intelligence than her counterpart. Which did not mean as much as it might have, since many among the slime demonstrated an order of magnitude more intelligence than Glory. Of course, it had to be admitted that even the slime the slime she now resembled considered to be slime often displayed more intelligence than Glory.

Which did not in any way change the fact that Illyria found herself looking upon Dawn Summers with more respect than she would have granted Glorificus. Part of it was a simple recognition of her obvious intelligence. The female was challenging the might of the _First Evil_, and so far had made few if any missteps. Naturally she had equally few outright successes, since the First was far smarter and infinitely more powerful than one of the slime, even one who had demonstrated unexpected tactical wisdom such as this one had. But the human was aware of her own limitations, cognizant of the power of her formidable opponent, and had so far limited herself to collecting Intelligence and assessing the First's relative strengths and weaknesses. Given similar circumstances, Dawn was performing exactly as Illyria would have had she been in a similar position.

Perhaps that was why she found the human worthy of consideration. Perhaps it was the very ambition of a creature barely more evolved than a slime mold seeking to challenge the might of the _First Evil_ which was worthy of praise. Another possibility was that she had done so and not already been wiped from existence for her insolence merited its own appreciation. But, for some reason, Illyria found herself suspecting there was even more to it. She recalled her first reaction upon meeting Dawn Summers: "_I know you_." It was a familiarity she could not explain. The pseudo-memories of her shell suggested a repressed or suppressed memory, but that was the opinion of slime. Illyria knew what she knew. She did not 'repress' memories. Nor did she permit external forces to 'suppress' her memories.

And yet, she 'knew' Dawn Summers.

But she did not know how she knew her.

The other biological units, the enhanced females frolicking about like mindless poultry, were barely worthy of consideration. Granted they were more powerful than the default slime unit, but were so obsessed with their trivial degree of superiority over the breeding herd that they spent little time exercising what passed for intelligence among the muck. Had it not been for Dawn Summers, they would have been just another pack of undomesticated animals, fit only for killing or being disciplined into obedience purely for the entertainment value of their futile attempts at resisting their betters. Guided by Dawn Summers, however, her pack had amassed a surprisingly extensive database on the First's tactics and movements. Illyria had been carefully assessing that information, since it was second only to understanding Dawn Summers' true nature on her list of priorities, and had come to her own conclusions as to the First's intentions and likely tactics. She hadn't shared her assessment only because she was far more interested in discovering if Dawn Summers would reach similar conclusions. For a number of reasons, she was reasonably certain this would turn out to be the case.

Illyria was confident she would have recognized another god no matter their disguise. Regardless of the appearance of their shells, her senses were still sufficiently discriminating to have detected the powerful essence of a being such as Jasmine or Glory. Dawn Summers did not register with those senses. And yet… _something_ about her was far beyond the norm. It was a trick she was embarrassed to realize was yet another seemingly foolish suggestion from the remnant aspect of her shell –a remnant which in itself should not have existed; all aspects of the former Winifred Burkle should have been expunged when Her own magnificence deigned to occupy its former shell—where she didn't look _directly_ at Dawn, but only out of the corner of her eye, while appearing to study another inconsequential object. When she didn't concentrate on her, the aura she dimly perceived became slightly more substantial, a green tinge too pronounced to be dismissed as an aberration. Whatever she was, Dawn Summers was far more than just another creeping fungus.

In a world of pathetic creatures obsessed with pursuing mindless rutting and little else, Dawn Summers was… _interesting_. It had been some time since Illyria had found anything sufficiently unique as to capture her interest. The last time it had happened Hell had been unleashed and an apocalypse barely averted. Illyria saw no reason this time should prove to be any less consequential. Running through the possibilities and permutations given the limited information available, using multiple chains of thought simultaneously, she soon reached an extraordinary conclusion. Illyria was momentarily surprised she hadn't realized the obvious immediately, and even deeper examination of the logic soon had her understanding the implications of her failure to do so. Confirmation of the reason for her failure implied that the original possibility was accurate, despite its preposterous impossibility. Even the Old Ones had known of the Key. They had never found it. The Elder Gods had made certain of that. And yet, after uncounted eons, here it was. Standing right before her. _The Key_! Things might turn out to be even more interesting than she had previously thought.

Abruptly moving towards the human female, Illyria knew that every one of the muck combat units in sight would be on alert, observing her awkward gait as she approached their leader. It disgusted her to have to act overtly non-threatening when ever she came close to the human female, but her powers were so limited even these slime could overcome her in sufficient numbers. Once, she could have annihilated them all with a gesture… but no longer. This female's sibling had effectively destroyed Glorificus. Hamilton had almost done the same to her. The others of the peculiar combat model known as 'slayers' might be able to do something similar to Illyria herself, so she was forced to ignore their insolence, the muttered warnings that '_Smurfette'_ was approaching. Illyria had no idea what 'Smurfette' referred to; but the tonal intonations implied a derogatory connotation, and anything less than groveling worship was an insult which only present circumstances compelled her to ignore.

Dawn Summers met her gaze without flinching. Most of the slime found her somewhat intimidating, which was far preferable to those disgusting bags of protoplasm who found her form enticing. The thought of rutting with un-evolved muck disgusted her to such an extent she was tempted to test the combat models' ability to withstand her strength as she attempted to remove the spinal columns of those who propositioned her. Fortunately, Dawn Summers did not appear to be one of the drones obsessed with mating rituals. Noting that she was already losing her thought as the spell fought against her realization, Illyria dispensed with any redundant commentary before she was compelled to forget what she wanted to say. "Even in my youth you were a legend. Stories were told of a race discovering you orbiting the massive black hole at the center of a distant galaxy in another dimension more than a hundred million years ago. Just the rumor that you had been located compelled mighty civilizations to do battle. None could take the chance that any other race might gain control of the Key."

Her introductory statement got a reaction. The Key's shell was far more integrated into its persona than her own. Emotional reactions were clearly visible in the momentary twitching of facial muscles, the narrowing of the pupils. But the Key quickly gained control of herself. "In a few minutes, you'll forget what I am."

Illyria nodded once, a human gesture she had found to be more useful than the equivalent used by her own kind for a similar purpose. "I understand the meta-physical compulsion. I have analyzed the spell… a more elaborate derivative of that used to conceal Glorificus from the slime. Given that the spell hiding her true identity was invoked by Gods, you yourself must have enabled this version. None of the magic-wielding denizens among the slime have even a fraction of the required power. Even _I_ will succumb to it. As will the First. But I caution that, having recognized the concealing aspect, I will be aware that _something_ is being concealed, and realization will occur more rapidly with experience. The period of memory retention will gradually increase. This is even more true of the First. If you believe this tactic will prove effective at concealing your true identity from the First over an extended period of time, you are mistaken."

The two combat model human drones stared at her like she was speaking a foreign language, which Illyria only then realized she was. She was speaking in her native tongue. And Dawn Summers was responding in kind. "It's camouflage, Illyria. I know it's only temporary. But I'll take it for as long as I can get away with it."

Again, she used the human nod, returning to her story. "When the war ended, trillions of the muck had been removed from their pathetic existences. Uncounted worlds had been sterilized with nuclear fire. When the victor attempted to exploit your power, your screams awakened us to the realization that you had been found. Many of us immediately made our way to the source of the signal that is unique to a being such as yourself. Rather than allow you to fall into our possession –or, especially, that of the First-- the Elder Gods destroyed the race who found you –_all_ of them, including all of the worlds they infested with their presence, their allies, surviving enemies, any who so much as knew of their existence--and returned you to the infinite depths of intergalactic space in one of the more obscure parallel universes. This was not the first time they had done so. Over the eons, a roughly equivalent sequence of events has occurred several times, all with the same result. The dangers of permitting you to be captured by the First are too obvious. Yet this time they appear to be willing to let the Game play itself out. They are willing to risk universal Armageddon rather than simply destroy this nest of slime and hide you once again.

"I… question the logic of this decision."

The Key's human shell appeared startled by her words. For a second Illyria was surprised, before understanding that at least one aspect of the legend was correct; the Key was barely self-aware. The human shell would be providing the intelligence, and Dawn Summers was not in possession of even what little information Illyria knew when it came to the Key. Illyria could barely contain her rage at the situation. "They are _fools_! Even such as _I_ might not survive should the First succeed! I should destroy your shell and return the Key to its furtive existence before permitting even the _possibility_ of such chaos to occur!"

Her cocked head twisted slightly, meeting the eyes of the combat units, who were preparing for violence. They didn't know what was being said, but didn't trust her at all, and recognized the incipient threat implied by her tone and posture. They would defend Dawn Summers should she attempt to carry out her threat. She wasn't strong enough to overcome them all. Illyria sighed in frustration. It offended her to have to bow to superior force. Once, she had been the personification of 'superior force.' No longer. Even such as she sometimes had to bow to the inevitable. "But the lesson of Glorificus must be heeded. Given My present limitations, even these muck are capable of opposing My will. So be it. The Elder Gods seek an answer after all these billions of years. After refusing to let it come to the test so many times before. I will abide by their decision.

"But they are _fools _to take such a risk!"

The Key --no, the human female who was acting in the Keys' stead—appeared frightened, but curious. "An 'answer?' What is the _question_?"

Illyria again almost sighed, this time almost embarrassed by the trivialities which entertained Gods. "The _only_ Question, so far as the Elder Gods are concerned. What is 'good,' and what is 'evil?' What is their nature, and which is more powerful? There are many ambiguities, but the fundamental question is the relationship between 'good' and 'evil.' It is a question they cannot answer for themselves due to their innate nature. They are 'beyond' such things, and ignorant of their complexities and ambiguities. I now realize that I should have long since understood what was occurring on this planet. The nature of Angel's task as a 'Champion,' the return of Jasmine and the defeat of Glory, all pointed towards a fundamental conflict between 'good' and 'evil' playing out before Me just as I awoke from My long slumber. I merely underestimated the scale of the confrontation. The Key and the First will finally play out their part as well. This is quite literally the final test, so far as the Elder Gods are concerned.

"In some ways it is not surprising that it should happen here and now. In many ways, humanity itself was created to answer the Question."

Observing the shock in Dawn Summers' expression, Illyria deigned to explain. "Humanity has a legend concerning their very origin, a fable where they come about as a species in large part due to eating what they refer to as 'the Forbidden Fruit.' Although allegory, the story does convey in essence the nature of the shift from what they 'were' to what they 'are.' What they received, and what made them different from any other species of equivalent slime, is what you would call a 'soul.' Before 'eating the Fruit' they were 'innocent,' somewhat like a primitive version of the Key itself. Afterwards they had an understanding of the difference between good and evil; _but_, in their unique case, also the ability to _choose_ their own course of action, regardless of its moral underpinnings. Other races are compelled from birth to act according to the dictates of the side of the Balance their races belongs to. Not so humanity. Previous to their Awakening they had been coddled, protected due to the limitations of their own innocence. They lacked even the capacity to understand that something was morally 'wrong,' or that their actions had consequences. It is no wonder the slime themselves consider their Fall From Innocence to be a punishment from God. Once they had the _capacity_ to make a choice, they no longer had the freedom _not_ to make such choices.

"They are slime; but _unique_ slime. It is the 'soul' which makes them human; their most formidable strength, their greatest weakness. They possess the ability to know right from wrong, good from evil, but also have the freedom to _choose_ which path they will follow. They were not compelled to follow one path as required to meet the necessities of the Balance. It is Winifred Burkle's 'soul' which taints me. Previously, in my natural form, I was pure, '_innocent_,' as a shark is innocent. I was not 'evil' because I _could not be__anything else_ except what I was. My actions might be considered 'evil,' and the consequences could be interpreted as 'evil,' but because I lacked even the basic capacity to know the difference I was… _pure_. Content within the bounds of my own existence. Now, tainted as I am by the 'soul' of this unit of slime, this pathetic creature of less consequence than one of the insects crawling through the muck, I am… _not…_ content. No longer _pure_. Because now, I am compelled to consider the consequences of my actions.

"Fortunately, I am not beholden to limit my actions simply because they might have negative consequences for the irrelevant and unknowing slime among the human herd. I _know_ the difference between good and evil; but mere possession of a soul does not _compel_ me to do 'good.' Evidently, the Key reached a similar conclusion, coming at it from the other side of the equation. It must have realized that it was doomed to fail due to the limitations of its own innocence. It was incapable of understanding the conflict facing it, or the consequences which might befall others following its inevitable defeat. 'Evil' would triumph simply because the Key was too 'good' to fight back. Knowing this, the Key _tainted_ itself, in the same way I am tainted. It found a way to give itself a 'soul,' permitting it the option of doing 'evil.' Now that I am possessed by a soul, I see similar opportunities in the option of acting contrary to the precepts of evil. Both of us seek to overcome our inherent limitations by exploiting a human 'soul' to provide the freedom to choose among the available alternatives between 'good' and 'evil.'"

She paused, momentarily glaring at the sky with hypnotically intense blue eyes, before returning her attention to the girl she would never again look at as merely another semi-intelligent biological sack of protoplasm. "By itself, this renders the Question moot. We are not resolving any questions regarding 'good' or 'evil.' The Key has concluded that in its pure form it cannot win. I am now forced to realize that 'evil' is itself ultimately doomed due to its innate limitations; its short-sightedness, inability to co-operate, the futility of its own existence. In truth, were I given the opportunity to rid myself of this accursed 'soul,' I would now be… _hesitant_… to do so. Despite its obvious flaws, it does possess a rudimentary utility. I comprehend the benefits which might accrue from doing 'good,' but I also _despise_ the feelings this 'soul' imposes when I _choose_ to do otherwise. I strongly suspect that the First would not tolerate the imposition of such feelings, the horror of its own memories reflected through the prism of a soul's verdict on its actions. I therefore conclude it does not possess your sister's soul, despite inhabiting her body. What happened to her soul might be worthy of theological debate, had I the slightest interest in the topic or its answer. However, this might present a weakness you can exploit. I must note that using such a weakness would render any conclusion moot regarding the Elder Gods' Question. Both aspects are tainted by their need to compromise in order to address the needs of achieving victory.

"Or, perhaps, this is the answer they sought all along. Either way, despite my nature, our similar imperfections offer a potentially superior strategic option to the evil perfection exemplified by the First. And because I have reached this conclusion, when it comes to this conflict, I _choose_ to support _you_ in your efforts to defeat the First. Any plans you make should be adjusted accordingly."

With that, Illyria turned away, having already forgotten the reason she had pledged her allegiance to one of the muck, only dimly noting that Dawn Summers was staring after her with an expression of shock.

---

Kennedy watched Willow whip her newest pet, not even attempting to hide her smirk of contempt since the witch was far too involved in the process to notice. It was always a petite blonde, and for some reason Willow didn't think anyone noticed. How someone as intelligent as Willow could be so idiotic in so many ways, Kennedy didn't even try to understand. What mattered was that it made Willow manipulatable, and Willow was far to powerful to be permitted freedom of action. It had been that way ever since Kennedy found herself in Sunnydale, one of only a handful of Potential Slayers who had managed to escape the Bringers. A quick glance over the prevailing power structure quickly located the most obvious route to gaining herself a seat at the head table, and Kennedy had pretty much jumped Willow at the first opportunity in order to achieve that objective. It had worked too… and still did. The First counted on her to keep Willow in line when she wasn't around to do the job personally.

Yeah, Kennedy knew that 'Buffy' was actually the First. Had known it for years. Since not long after Sunnydale went bye-bye, in fact. It had been a horrifying realization. Kennedy had planned to either manipulate Buffy into retirement, or simply kill the bitch, in order to gain control over the remaining slayers after their victory over the Torak-han. Wasting a ditz like Buffy was one thing; messing with the First Evil was something else entirely. Fortunately, Kennedy hadn't dumped Willow in the interim, because it quickly appeared that the First needed Willow's power for some reason. They had come to an arrangement, which put Kennedy nearly in the position she had wanted in the first place: she pretty much ran the slayers. So long as she made sure they did those jobs the First needed done, Kennedy had a free hand to use them as she saw fit. Which generally involved things that made her rich, or able to kill things that pissed her off.

It didn't bother Kennedy to see Willow having sex with other people. She had no emotional connection to the other woman –'love' was not an emotion Kennedy was familiar with—so anything that diverted Willow from bothering her was to the good. Willow had to be kept under their control, and it was just too easy to divert her with the usual distractions; sex and bondage and drugs and alcohol. Willow did love her sex games, especially sex games involving her 'Buffy' analogues. At first they told her the girls were masochists, who enjoyed it. Lately even that justification hadn't been needed, but Kennedy was careful to keep an eye on her should any reinforcement be necessary. Willow had always been good at deluding herself. But she was Kennedy's meal ticket, which meant being prepared for all eventualities.

Kennedy had learned early that it was all about Power. Looks and money and family and faith were all ephemeral; only Power lasted. She told people she lived in a mansion, that she had a summer home in the Hamptons. What she _didn't_ tell people was that it hadn't been _her_ home; her mother was the cook, working for an immensely wealthy family. A family whose son she had loved passionately. Well, a family whose son she had _claimed_ to love passionately, at least. A family who had made it clear that although they didn't mind if their child had sex with her, she would never be made part of their family. The lesson had stuck. When she arrived in Sunnydale she had considered making a move on Buffy herself, as she had been the nexus of local power. But at the time the vampire had still been part of the equation, and if Buffy had rejected her it would have limited her options with any of the others.

Sex was the quickest method of joining the power structure and separating herself from the other Potentials. Dawn was out because it would have infuriated Buffy, and Xander still seemed to be hung up on the demon, although Kennedy had gotten some subtext vibes when he looked at Willow. It was just as well Kennedy made her move so quickly. Had she spent too much time attempting to get Buffy into her bed, Xander likely would have dug his way into being Willow's emotional support, preventing the Witch from being her fall-back option. Then if Faith had arrived and seen Buffy with another girl, Kennedy didn't have the slightest doubt that the Dark Slayer would have beaten her to a pulp, kicked her ass out of the house, and made her own move. That hadn't been the reason she'd moved so quickly, however. Willow had mentioned that she had _'loved one woman, once…_' when talking about her now-conveniently-dead girlfriend. Implying that she wasn't committed to exclusively female relationships. So grabbing Willow while the opportunity was available had been the right call. Unfortunately it meant she tied herself to an emotional basket case who was far too powerful to irritate by bitch-slapping her pathetic ass the way she really needed.

Although she respected Willow's power, Kennedy had nothing but contempt for the witch herself. Knowing she had limited time, she had pulled a full-court press on the girl, virtually stalking her, exploiting her need for someone else to provide emotional support. It had taken her about a nanosecond to realize that Willow was innately weak. She needed someone else to validate her, was completely dependent on other people telling her she was smart, and pretty, and useful, and to basically acknowledge her right to exist. Granted that Willow had been going through a rough time, but Kennedy had never needed anyone else to validate _her_ life. She knew damned well she was hot, and tough, and smart, and was destined for greatness. No matter how many bodies she had to crawl over to achieve her destiny.

In many ways, all of her ambitions had come to pass. Kennedy was rich, and powerful, and feared, and famous. She had been on the cover of Newsweek listed as 'Buffy's Strong Right Hand.' She had done a fashion layout in Vogue. Master Vampires trembled in fear when they learned she was on the hunt. But to maintain her position, she still had to do her part to keep Willow on the emotional roller-coaster that kept the witch from taking a long hard look at herself, and her relationship with her 'best friend.' The First was corporeal now, and Willow was powerful enough to interfere with its plans should she feel the need to do so. By indulging her not-so-secret desires, by preventing her from ever seeing the consequences of her actions, and by constantly reinforcing her delusions, they were able to keep control of the witch. But it was hard to hide her contempt sometimes. Only the certain knowledge –based on one extremely painful experience—of the consequences should the First discover that she had failed in her assigned task of manipulating Willow kept Kennedy from telling the pathetic bitch what she really thought of her.

It had been a relief when the First finally took the witch into her own bed after years of making her wait: making her beg for it, the lure set, the prize if she followed orders even a psychologically-fucked-up Willow found it difficult to handle. But the bait had been _sooooo_ perfect, the manipulations performed for years leading up to that moment, preparing her for letting go the last of her morals. By then Willow would have done anything to get 'Buffy' in bed. Would have sold her soul for one night with the Slayer.

Which is pretty much exactly what she had done.

Kennedy didn't know much about the First's long-range plans, but knew they extended far beyond ruling this world. An ambitious girl herself, Kennedy found it pretty impressive that she was working with someone whose goals barely started at _ruling the fucking planet_. She'd seen enough of the First in action to have few doubts that the ex-goddess would achieve its ambitions. She also had no doubts at all about the consequences of attempting to interfere with her attainment of those goals. In fact, the drugged-out blonde chick Willow was presently whipping with an almost psychotic fury had attempted to do just that. The First tended to deal rather harshly with those foolish enough to get in its way.

Speaking of which, Kennedy snapped to alertness as the tiny blonde suddenly joined her in the observation area overlooking the floor where the orgy was taking place. Her bodyguard, two particularly huge slayers of immense strength and equally limited intelligence, positioned themselves to survey the floor against potential assassins, just out of eavesdropping range.

"Kenn."

"Buff." Kennedy was very careful not to call the girl by her true name when they might be overheard. She took the opportunity to examine the First while she was examining the pillow-strewn padded floor, where slayers were taking care of their H&H's in whatever configuration they preferred. A buffet table along one wall was constantly replenished to supply the 'hungry' part. It said something that Willow's display wasn't the most extreme example of the other 'H,' and this wasn't even a particularly busy day. This was _not_ a room open to the tour groups. 'Buffy' looked over it all with an expression of satisfied contempt.

Slayers who deliberately harmed normal humans tended to react badly. Over the past few years, a lot of slayers had been harming a lot of civilians in order to increase Slayers Inc's power and authority. In this room they could indulge themselves, get the rage out of their system so they could –usually-- act relatively sane the next time they were sent out into the real world. Until the next time they couldn't resist the urge, and they returned here. What happened to them once they couldn't handle the real world anymore Kennedy did not know. 'Buffy' took care of them herself, in her personal Retreat. That building was off-limits, even to Kennedy. Which was perfectly fine with her. She didn't _want_ to know what went on in there anyway.

The Slayer herself sometimes looked as psychotic as the worst of the insane slayers, but had the self-control to hide it when needed. Her control over her facial expressions was exquisite; she could be pouty or sweet or resolute or compassionate as needed, depending on the audience. Her bone structure was perfect for the role of spokes-person for a group of potentially-intimidating women. She really was pretty, her nose just slightly too long, giving her a character more conventionally perfect features would have prevented. Her hair was longer than it had been back in Sunnydale, a darker blonde, more mature-looking without making her seem _too_ grown up. This was a person who understood psychology to a degree Kennedy found frightening. She never, ever, wanted to cross the First. Bad things happened to those who did. Which was why she was Buffy's Strong Right Hand, standing at her side observing the action, instead of being bent over a pommel horse, her bleeding ass being whipped by a drugged-up witch.

Just to make conversation, she nodded towards the action below. "I can't help but notice that she only whips the ones who resemble you now. That make you nervous?"

Nobody could sneer like the First. Nobody made the First sneer more than Willow. "She knows she's being manipulated, but she won't use magic against anyone she's sleeping with, not after betraying her precious Tara. Which is why I'm fucking her, of course. None of my magical defenses would stop her if she really cut loose. She knows that too, which is why I'm able to manipulate her in the first place. Her arrogance is an even greater weakness than her dependency."

"She's getting mad, though. Sooner or later she's going to go nuclear."

"I know. In fact, I'm counting on it." The First seemed pleased that Kennedy had realized the implications of what she was seeing, and bestowed a rare smile on her deputy.

Kennedy was happy to see that smile, because the First occasionally rewarded her loyalty by tossing her a bone. "I've heard from one of the girls camping out with my sweet little sister." Kennedy knew that several of the slayers hanging out at Harris' place with Dawn were actually spies, so merely nodded, being very careful to keep her face expressionless. They'd been caught by surprise by her escape, and the First had flown into a rage the likes of which none of them had ever seen. The guards on the 'Dawn Patrol' had been taken to Buffy's Retreat and never seen again. When someone dared ask, she swore she hadn't killed them. A witch did a truth spell and verified that she wasn't lying about that, but her words still left a lot of room for punishment short of death. It hadn't taken them long to track her sister down, but by then the First had seemed to lose interest in her. Instead of bringing her home, the First saw an opportunity to use Dawn and her merry band of morons for its own purposes. The change in strategy had been unexpected, but Kennedy had been too relieved to question it. "It appears that our old friend Faith is seeking to steal something which belongs to me. Rather foolish of her. I'd like you to teach her the error of her ways."

Kennedy's eyes narrowed. Faith had been the only slayer to intimidate her even after they were all Called. Oh, she knew that Buffy had beaten Faith when they'd fought; but Buffy was a moron. She didn't have the slightest doubt that she could have handled the blonde ditz, had they ever thrown down. Faith, on the other hand, had been _dangerous_. If she hadn't been on Buffy's shit-list, if would have been _Faith_ who trained the Potentials, _Faith_ who occupied the position Kennedy now held. They had been a pair –stronger, tougher, less naive than the others—but in their case familiarity had bred contempt. Fortunately Faith had a bad history, and some bad luck, ensuring that Kennedy wound up here, overlooking the orgy floor like a queen surveying her domain, while Faith was crapping in the bushes outside Xander Harris's woodshop. But, oh, what might have been… "Is she going after the Scythe?"

The small woman beside her snorted contemptuously. "I should be so lucky. No, she's after the Mutari Generator."

When she noticed Kennedy looking at her with a confused expression, the First sighed, deigning to explain further. "It's the device that damned vampire used to limit Illyria's powers. A very sophisticated weapon which uses a rather unique principle to control the generation of sub-space portals. Illyria still has all of her powers, but they are continually drained into a very specific dimension before they can build up and destroy her humanoid shell. The principle it uses is so unique I'm basing my own portal designs on it, rather than the standard magic-based mechanism."

Kennedy nodded without understanding, but knew she had damned well better remember the lecture. The First did not explain things without a good reason for doing so. The whole 'Portal Project' thing wasn't exactly Top Secret, but wasn't public knowledge either. Most of the people who knew about it didn't see much point in the effort, since mages could magically open portals to a host of alternate dimensions without spending a ton of money in order to figure out how to generate them artificially. Granted that it was getting harder to do since many of those alternate dimensions were actively resisting the creation of such portals, but enough remained viable to use as dumping grounds for problems who didn't quite merit a silent execution. An organization like Slayers Inc, composed of a large number of young women and girls, naturally had a vast and efficient gossip network, so Kennedy had already heard that the Portal Project was supposed to open up gates between dimensions which were close analogues to their own. Only they were not filled with monsters, and so suitable for conquest, colonization, or conversion. Since the First didn't seem to be interested in building spaceships, Kennedy figured this was how it planned on conquering the universe: one alternate world at a time.

Those long-term plans didn't particularly interest Kennedy. The First could have all the other dimensions it wanted, so long as she was allowed to run this one. She had long since modestly decided to limit her ambitions to something unlikely to irritate the First. So protecting a tool the First wanted, which did not threaten her own plans, and was likely to give her a chance to kill Faith, could only be considered to be a nice 'Attaboy' from the boss. If performed to the satisfaction of said boss, other rewards generally followed. "Let me know when and where, and you can consider it done, Buffy."

The thin smile she received in return was the equivalent of proud applause.

--

Faith was a bit nervous about this one. Not just because they would be hitting some place the First was protecting, but because Dawn had refused to authorize the operation. She thought there were too many unknowns, and the prize wasn't worth the risk. Faith disagreed. All of her instincts were clamoring that the Smurfette was important to whatever was happening. Dawn's reaction to her had been uncharacteristic. Not exactly intimidated, but definitely intrigued. In her previous incarnation Illyria had been something seriously powerful, and they desperately needed something with a bit more 'oomph' than they currently had in their arsenal. Angel had cut down the Blue Bird's mojo by about 1000 using this Mutari thingamajig, and Faith wanted it available and set to 'reverse' should they need to get their most potentially-powerful ally firing on all cylinders someday.

Dawn didn't disagree, but simply felt that they were unlikely to succeed in stealing the device from its secure location. So, officially, they weren't _specifically_ going after the gizmo. _Officially_, this was a training mission. They'd gotten lucky with Grace, but aside from her there hadn't been a helluva lot of leadership talent among the Ronin. Until recently. A Native American girl who went by the name of China had showed up one day and blew them away with her strength and talent. For a big girl, she'd was also pretty fast, and pretty swift on the uptake as well. Not as smart as Grace, but willing to listen and quick to adapt. Faith had quickly taken the girl under her wing –not literally, since she was a good six inches taller than Faith—but metaphorically she became the first person ever to look upon Faith as her mentor.

Her own reaction had stunned Faith even more than the idea that anyone would willingly look to her as their own seriously-hot-looking Mr. Miyagi. The whole '_sensei'_ thing was for _other_ people, people who were not _her_. Buffy had done it with the Potentials. Buffy had _sucked_ at it with the Potentials, but she'd _done_ it. And in the end she'd succeeded in building them into a team… a team which had banded together to kick her speechifying ass out of their collective hair. The idea that someone might look at her as someone they could learn from, someone whose abilities they respected and who actually seemed to think she had some skills worth investigating, hit Faith in a way nothing else ever had. She found to her shocked horror that she actually _wanted_ to teach this chick something, to pass along some tricks of the trade she'd had to learn the hard way. Because despite their obvious differences, she could see a lot of herself in China.

Faith was sensual, almost to the point of being a sexual predator, minus the whole 'forcing' thing. She saw sex as little more than a biological function. Because she had no emotional investment in the process, Faith had no real restrictions on the people she would take to bed. Male, female, young, old, black, white, Faith did not discriminate. She treated them all the same: like they were little more than flesh-encased dildoes. She did make an effort to ensure that they enjoyed themselves, but their pleasure was definitely of secondary importance to the primary objective of getting herself off. China, on the other hand, was a closet romantic. It was pretty obvious she was looking for a Knight in Shining Armor to carry her away to his –emphasis on the '_his'_—castle. Her voice was naturally quiet, and she was capable of remaining motionless for hours on end. Faith couldn't shut up or stop moving for more than a few seconds. Their tastes in food were completely different, tastes in music completely different, clothing, movies, entertainment in general; all different. They disagreed on pretty much _everything_ in fact. Except when it came to slaying.

They both _loved_ to slay. The hunt, the violence, the kill. They _lived_ for it. The adrenaline rush was like nothing else. Not food, not drugs, not even sex. Slaying was their _life_, and they both recognized a kindred spirit the very first time they went out on patrol together.

It didn't take more than a few days to determine that China had 'the touch.' Although not as good with tactics as Grace, China had better 'people' skills and a more natural way with leadership. The other girls almost instinctively looked to her for instructions, her suggestions almost always dead-on and perceptive as hell. Faith had to almost visibly brace herself for the inevitable discovery that China was one of the First's deep cover agents sent to infiltrate the Ronin. But exhaustive investigation consistently backed up her claim to have never been approached by Slayers Inc at all. She had been brought up on an isolated Reservation, and nobody in the outside world had known she had been Called. When relatives quietly let her know that rumors about her had started to appear in town, she'd realized that sooner or later she'd be forced to make a choice, and she'd chosen to go find the Ronin.

Even better, so far as Faith had been concerned, was the way China had bonded with Grace. Psychologically scared by her less-than-model-like looks, Grace was not the most gregarious person Faith had ever met. A loner herself, Faith could relate. But Faith had also learned that if the Ronin were to be effective, their leaders needed to be more open with the other girls, more available to them, more willing to make the effort to work with them and help them. This did not come naturally to either Faith or Grace, but most emphatically _did_ with China. She loved the camaraderie, the 'us against the world' team spirit of the Ronin. Those girls respected Grace's intelligence, and tolerated Faith because she scared the piss out of most of them, but _loved_ China's attitude, her corny jokes, her off-beat stories, and her natural charisma. Between the three of them, they built the Ronin into a team far quicker and more effectively than Faith would have been able to on her own. Because China, like Grace, was one of their own. Faith never would be. Her own history ensured that she would always be an outsider, even amongst the outsiders.

The only way to test how good a job they'd really done with China was in the field, facing off against a real opponent. Doing so entailed risk, and there was no point in risking the girls were there not commensurate rewards for doing so. Faith was convinced that the Mutari Generator was one such reward which not only justified the risk of trying to get it, but wasn't such a huge risk that they'd have to be crazy to even try. Unlike, say, the Scythe. Having held the Scythe in her hands back in Sunnydale she would have given her right arm to possess it again. But it was protected too well for them to have the slightest chance of succeeding. The Mutari Generator, on the other hand, was off in an external lab in New Jersey, defended only by the normal security patrolling an external Slayers Inc site. With no more than two or three slayers likely to be guarding the entire facility, Faith was more concerned by their ability to get by the technological defenses than she was by the guards.

Much as it pained her to admit it, that was the area where Andrew had came through for her. Despite antics which made her want to kill him on a daily basis, Andrew had become their best source for contacts not only in the magical world, but the high-tech one as well. His involvement with the Nerds of Doom had actually turned out to be useful, giving him access to the 'flakier' elements of both cultures. Since the members in good standing with both of those groups didn't want their status to change should they be so foolish as to challenge Slayers Inc, it was the social lepers who became the backbone of their counter-measures teams in both areas. Even amongst such weirdness Andrew stood out, not just because he was even weirder than the weirdest of them, but because he turned out to be smarter than most of them as well. They respected that. Almost as much as they respected the fact that he lived with over a hundred mostly hot teenaged girls who spent a lot of their time wearing minimal amount of clothing around him.

Even nerds liked hot, nearly-naked nubile young babes. Perhaps _especially_ nerds. But so far as Faith could tell, Andrew was essentially asexual. He never reacted to 'accidental' nudity, he never responded to even overt sexual offers. Faith was firmly convinced that Andrew had yet to figure out that he could do more than just pee out of the damned thing. But they needed his talent and connections, and the most useless human being she had ever met had turned out to be one of their most priceless assets. When she explained the problem to him, it took Andrew less than five minutes to find the tools she would need to get past the standard Slayers Inc security package. He really was a godsend.

But if he called the First 'Darth Buffy' one more time, Faith was going to go fucking postal.

---

She took ten of the Ronin on the mission. Grace and China were in charge of everything, from planning to execution. Faith was only along as an observer, although she would offer advice if it was specifically requested. It rarely was. The girls wanted to find out how good they were too. The plan they came up with wasn't one Faith would have gone with –Faith was a big believer in straight-ahead frontal assaults when the numbers were completely in your favor—but given their inexperience a more tentative approach wasn't a bad idea. Just so long as they didn't 'obsess the details' to the point of immobility Faith wasn't going to interfere. They never even came close to that.

They were a bit nervous about going up against other slayers, but thanks to her experience rescuing Spike, Grace was able to reassure them that, in many ways, it was easier to take a site protected by slayers than it was one defended by conventional forces. It was an ego thing. Most slayers were only assigned to guard duty as punishment for fucking up something more important. Slayers almost universally saw themselves as destined to lead the final assault on the Hellmouth, no matter how unlikely that was to happen, or incapable they were of doing so should it actually come to pass. _All_ of them felt that guarding a damned building was beneath their talents and dignity. A normal person, trained to and experienced at guarding something that needed protecting, was usually far more likely to spot trouble before a bored and bitter slayer sulking away the hours until she could get back to her _real_ job.

On the other hand, slayers often meant magic might be involved, which in turn meant they couldn't carry radios, or phones, or anything else likely to trip the wards. Those were items which tended to come in handy on missions such as theirs. But they could adapt. Grace sketched out her plan one final time, and fell back with her group while China led the main force towards their entry point. The outer perimeter was protected by a high fence. They first blinded the security cameras with well-aimed paint-balls, then used a pole to lever one girl high enough to drop a long way down on the other side. Even circus performers would have crushed their knees landing such a drop, but the slayers just got up running. When the six girls were in, the two bracing the lift pole disassembled it and quickly ran back out of sight, just before a small truck arrived to take a look at the cameras.

There were two men in the truck, so it didn't take a rocket surgeon to realize that external security wasn't being handled by slayers. The two who had disposed of the lift pole made their way to where Grace and her partner were surveying the guard shack, noting that the people inside were distracted by the team checking out the cameras. Only two men remained in the shack, both distracted, so never even saw Grace and her team sneak up, despite three separate cameras showing their approach. They were simply too fast and too well-trained for the men to react in time. Within seconds the team had burst into the shack, stunned the guards, and gained access to the security setup.

All were uncomfortably aware that in a Slayers Inc facility the guard shack would only be a remote site, with primary security control being maintained somewhere within the secure facilities. At least one slayer would be in that room at all times, and she might have seen their approach during the second or two they were visible. It was just as likely she wouldn't have, but nobody wanted to bet on that when they were dealing with another slayer. Regular guards they could out-fight or out-run. Messing with a slayer meant messing with everything Slayers Inc could throw at them. Grace had factored that into her plans, and their timing constraints would become increasingly tight. They had very good intelligence on the location of the Mutari device, and complete plans for the facility, so despite the risk all of them felt the job was do-able. More importantly, there were several opportunities to bail out should the situation change while they were inside.

It was all going according to plan when Faith… _felt_ something. At first she wasn't sure what it was. Her slayer senses had never been as 'fine tuned' as Buffy's had been, if only because she had never relied on them as much as Buffy had. So many of the new slayers couldn't be detected, or couldn't detect each other, that it wasn't even something they could really teach properly anymore. They still trained them to sense vampires, but that was pretty much it. Only it wasn't a vampire Faith was sensing. It was another slayer. The sensation was so clear and obvious that it could only be one of the oldest of the new crop, perhaps even one of the Sunnydale Potentials. Unfortunately all of _them_ worked for Slayers Inc. And none of them would be wasting their time guarding a minor lab… unless they had a real good reason to be doing so.

Scowling, and cursing up a storm, Faith knew they were fucked. But those were _her_ girls in there, and she wasn't giving them up without a fight. All she needed to do was warn China. Unfortunately, unlike Grace –and Faith herself, she admitted—China might not have the discipline to call off a mission the instant she realized something was wrong. She'd want to be _certain_ before running away. Without radios to let her know how serious the problem really was, Faith would need something else to get her attention. Rushing back towards their SUV, she put two fingers to her lips and blew a whistle loud enough to wake the dead. She could see Grace pop her head up, see Faith running, and it took her about a microsecond to figure out what it meant. Without hesitation she hit the big red button that the security guards would have tripped if they had spotted a problem.

The sudden cacophony of shrieking alarms was everything Faith could have hoped for. Even more impressive was the speed with which Grace and her team prepared to bail on the mission, with no explanation necessary. Jumping into the vehicle and gunning the engine, she raced towards the gate, where Grace's smaller team would join up with her to act as a diversion, hopefully letting the China's main group time to make their escape using another route. Even by slayer standards Faith was a lunatic behind the wheel, and the sound of screeching tires, and the whaling of the security sirens, almost drowned out the sudden popping sound of high-powered rifles being fired. The sound was so unexpected it took a second or two for Faith to realize what she was hearing.

Slayers didn't use _guns_! It just _wasn't done_!

For the most part, there were practical reasons for not using them. They jammed way too damned often, and most supernatural creatures were either not affected by bullets or had access to mystical shields which rendered them impotent. There were also psychological reasons. Most demons and creatures of similar nature were strictly hierarchical, with the dominant role going to the strongest among them. Not the most clever, or the richest, or the prettiest. The _strongest_. Guns offended their sense of social order. They didn't respect guns, or anyone who used guns. A slayer who used guns would be considered a coward by every vampire, demon, and witch they encountered. Worse, any slayer who relied too much on guns would find herself very dead, very quickly, the first time she ran into something which was immune or impervious to them.

Knowing they'd be going up against slayers, Faith hadn't even considered needing to take along anti-ballistic defenses. Andrew had actually offered what they called 'BGT's' –an old Buffy-ism for 'blue glowing things'—but Faith had turned them down as unnecessary, even counter-productive since there were likely to attract the attention of every witch in the vicinity. Which left Faith feeling like a complete idiot as she frantically drove towards the guard shack, which was being shredded by bullets being fired from automatic weapons on the roofs of several nearby buildings. The girls inside were trapped in the cross-fire, and the cheap construction of the shack didn't offer them much protection from high-caliber bullets. Going for broke, Faith hit the gas and aimed the heavy vehicle directly at the small building, hitting the brakes and frantically turning the wheel at the last second to skid backwards right into it.

Responding with her typical speed, Grace had her girls out the smashed window of the guard shack and in through the rear window of the vehicle in seconds, but even then they were almost too slow as Faith was already gunning it, the bullets quickly zeroing in on the vehicle, the thin steel construction no match for power of the incoming rounds. Frantically swerving left and right to put off their aim, Faith cursed the distance to the protection offered by the nearest buildings, enraged by the cries of her terrified slayers, their screams as some of the bullets struck vulnerable flesh. Seconds seemed to take hours, her mind working so quickly in her panic that she could see every shadow, every brick, every possible avenue of escape.

She saw Kennedy rise from behind the concrete barrier of the stairwell of a building directly beside the route she chose to sent the SUV. Saw her raise a handgun the size of a small cannon. Saw her smile triumphantly as she pulled the trigger. There was no time to get out of its way. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, to the point where she could almost see the approach of the bullet, knew there was nothing she could do to prevent being hit. Time only to brace herself, to prevent the vehicle from careening into something impenetrable and leaving her girls open for capture.

And then there was no time at all.

Somehow Faith managed to turn the SUV aside just enough in the fraction of a second she had available to make the bullet miss her heart. But not enough time to make it miss completely. It smashed into her left arm with an impact she couldn't have previously imagined, could not believe. For some reason she thought there would be no pain. Her body was flooded with adrenaline. Didn't that keep pain at bay? At least for awhile? Evidently not, because the agony was indescribable, almost more than she could bear. There was blood everywhere, and screams from the slayers adding to the surreal feeling of herself going into shock. But somehow she managed to keep control of the vehicle. Not for long… but long enough. Long enough to get away from the trap Kennedy had set up. Long enough for her to remember to slow down, so that when she finally lost consciousness, they didn't crash before Grace was able to take the wheel and get Faith out of the drivers' seat.

Long enough to save her girls.

Long enough to lose her left arm.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

Return To Normal

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**Chapter Ten**

--

"Goddammit!" Master Bratac smiled thinly at the exclamation of frustrated rage. He'd been hearing it a lot the past few hours. Every time he did, he knew he was on the right track. Intimidation hadn't worked. Nor had experience, or simple courtesy. More than a century of combat experience couldn't make up for her speed and inherent talent. But, oh my lord, the girl was quite simply incapable allowing herself to be _mocked_. Even knowing he was doing it deliberately, she couldn't stand it when he pretended to be unimpressed.

In truth, he'd never seen anything like her. Never _heard_ of anyone like her. Oh, in his hundred and thirty seven years he'd seen much, even seen fighters who might have nearly approached her abilities. But not her attitude. At first, he had been insulted that his allies among the Tau'ri would ask a Jaffa of his stature to 'train' a young female. Even after Teal'c had explained their reasons, and his own experience facing her in combat, Bra'tac hadn't been impressed. Physical ability was only part of what made a true warrior; being able to hit like a Tau'ri mule meant little when opposing enemies who did not stand and fight like the gladiators of history. More than raw talent was needed. An attitude, an ability to see the 'big picture,' to use the Tau'ri's most eloquent vernacular. The young female was unquestionably a mighty warrior, and would do well as part of any Jaffa covert missions team, but he saw little hint that she was capable of more complicated assignments, complex missions which might call for intelligence or creativity. But the Tau'ri were a valuable ally, and the Jaffa had far too few allies to needless irritate them, so Bra'tac swallowed his irritation and attempted to train the small warrior.

For several minutes he'd even been able to hold her off. Experience counted for a lot… but not enough to overcome the disadvantages which limited his ability to counter her youth and speed and strength. In truth he'd only kept trying because of her snide taunts, her open contempt, her obvious belief that he was too old, too slow, and too ugly to present a true challenge. There were many among the Jaffa who might have warned her against taunting a warrior of his caliber… especially when his face wore the expression it did when she made a particularly snide remark about his abilities when she took the staff weapon away from him for the third time in less than a quarter hour.

Hammond of Texas had –unfortunately—informed him that he could not kill her, and this was just a training session, so his staff weapon had not been set to full power. Given her size and mass, Bra'tac had foolishly thought that even the one-quarter strength charges Jaffa used during training sessions would be too powerful and might harm her, so had reduced them even further before he realized what she was capable of doing in the training facility. Not that it mattered in the end; he was so rarely able to hit her that even if he hadn't turned it down to something she was able to shrug off, she still would have defeated him easily. But he hadn't survived a hundred and thirty seven years without learning a thing or two himself, and saw how she relied on her speed, her strength, and her imagined ability to 'read' his facial expressions to dictate her tactics. The forth time she tried to take away the staff weapon he was waiting, swinging it before she even made her move, the move he _knew _she intended, took out her legs, and had the business end at her throat before she could adjust.

It was then that he saw what Hammond of Texas had seen. A momentary flash in her eyes, a deep-seated, implacable rage normally concealed by an attitude of condescension and smarmy vacuousness. Suspecting that few people saw it because her physical talents were so formidable few people would ever be in a position _to_ see it, he did not misinterpret that tell-tale gleam: this girl did _not_ like to lose. Perhaps it was due to overcompensation for her stature, or her sex, or merely something driven by internal psychological demons; but this girl absolutely _loathed_ being bested. At anything. Naturally she misinterpreted his small smile of understanding, thinking it to be a smug self-congratulation over finally defeating her in one trivial exercise. She went off on an insulting rant which a few minutes earlier would have had Bra'tac fuming in a carefully-concealed rage of his own. Not any more. He knew what she truly was now. He knew what Hammond of Texas had seen, and knew the respect he had for the Tau'ri commander had not been misplaced. Despite his somewhat-less-than-sculpted physical appearance, the General was one of the most dangerous warriors Bra'tac had ever met. No one in his experience had a better eye for spotting raw talent than Hammond of Texas.

Buffy Summers was a dangerous, barely-leashed killing machine masquerading as a simpering young gadfly. Given her combination of extraordinary physical talent and mental predilection towards violence, Bra'tac strongly suspected that Hammond of Texas saw precisely what he himself had seen far more years ago than he cared to admit, when he first observed Teal'c take up the staff weapon. Saw not just a protégé; but someone with the potential to surpass their own achievements. Bra'tac had groomed Teal'c to become the sort of warrior who might some day break the choking yoke of a race who saw themselves as Gods. He didn't doubt that Hammond of Texas had similar ambitions for his own unlikely protégé.

From that moment the training regime changed. He had beaten her once, but was unlikely to repeat the triumph, so saw no need to even attempt to do so. All that mattered was that he _had_ done so, and both of them knew _how_ he had done it. This was no longer about _his_ abilities; it was all about unleashing the potential Hammond of Texas saw in _her_. A potential Bra'tac now saw clearly, and cursed the swift passing of the years which had made him so feeble as to not see if from the beginning. He gave thanks to the True Gods for putting him in the company of warriors capable of seeing what his failing eyes could not in his twilight years. Because he had once thought Teal'c to be his greatest legacy; but in the small Tau'ri he now saw the potential for a _masterpiece_. When the training session resumed, instead of fighting her, he had her perform her own stylistic movements, and began to criticize her tactics and technique. It was intended to be a dispassionate, professional assessment, but of course she took offence, as he knew she would. That was the _point_; she took offence, and argued, and whined, and insulted him; but in the end she _listened_. He was _right_, and although she would never, not in a million years, admit to that fact, he was right _and she knew it_. When he asked her to repeat the steps, the next time she did it correctly.

Bra'tac had seen it before. Children so gifted they didn't have to exert themselves to win, so got into the habit of cheating, giving less than their best because it was usually enough to win against lesser opponents. But _they_ knew, as this girl would know, that she was cheating. That she was performing at less than her best. Naturally, she was offended that he called her on it. Naturally, given her personality, she whined and bleated like the spoiled child she truly was. But what really mattered was that when she saw that _he_ saw that she was cheating, she didn't repeat it either. From there, the training proceeded at a pace. It was fortunate that she had actually been very well trained, and remembered what had to be done. It was even more fortunate that she had a fire in her, the sort of demand for perfection which all true champions must possess because it could not be imposed from without, but only unleashed from within. A few hours later he had her going through choreographed routines demanding such speed and athletic prowess few among the observing officers could even see her move, let alone note the imperfections Bra'tac's wizened eyes pointed out each time she finished. Tiny, subtle movements which normally wouldn't have made a difference… unless she faced a warrior capable of equally impressive acrobatics.

When he finally called a halt to the session, nearly twelve hours after it had begun, Bra'tac was pleased when the young warrior did not want to stop, but by then he had seen enough to know that although she was physically capable of continuing, it would not aid in her training. He could see the mounting frustration as he uncovered more and more weaknesses in her technique, things no one else had seen because no one else had his eyes or experience. But she was experienced enough to know that if she ever did face anyone capable of exploiting such trivial errors, she would not survive the confrontation. Her whining had changed from the spoiled petulance of an insulted child to the frustrated realization that she just wasn't as good as she thought she was. Bra'tac wanted her to sleep on that understanding, wanted it to soak deep into her brain, wanted it to frustrate her and anger her and weaken her spirit. Because in the days to come he would _rebuild_ it, better than before, teaching her confidence backed by the certain knowledge that she really _was_ as good as she had once only _thought_ herself to be. Bra'tac had built Teal'c into a warrior capable of challenging the might of False Gods. He was curious what Hammond of Texas intended to challenge using this incredibly gifted young woman.

Whatever the Tau'ri commander intended, Bra'tac would build him a living weapon capable of handling the mission. Of that, he was certain. It would be a long night for him, as he needed to create a training plan from scratch, one designed to temper the metal of the most lethal sword any Jaffa Master had ever created. By the time he finished, Buffy Summers would be capable of fighting _anything_… even the God's themselves. His friend Hammond of Texas would have no reason to regret trusting his protégé into the hands of Bra'tac of the Free Jaffa. He was invigorated by the challenge. A hundred and thirty seven years old, and Bra'tac had never felt so young.

--

It had been difficult for Teal'c to maintain his stoic expression during the hours he had been observing Master Bra'tac's training session with BuffySummers. He had been… _disturbed_ by her attitude towards his teacher. His friend. Although she had occasionally acted somewhat childishly, never before had he seen Buffy Summers so difficult, so angry, so… _bratty_. It had taken monumental self-control on his part not to rush down from the observation deck, put the girl across his knee, and give her the spanking her behavior merited. A childish punishment for a young woman acting so childishly. He was proud of the self-discipline being displayed by his mentor. Several times he had seen the man's craggy face change, grow hard, and prepared himself for an explosion. But each time he had managed to restrain himself, to the open and obvious disappointment of the Tau'ri female. Only when he saw her expression did Teal'c understood that the girl had been baiting the Jaffa Master, trying to make him lose his temper. Teal'c could not imagine any reason for her to do so. And many reasons for her not to. And even more to regret it were she to succeed.

Teal'c had been terribly disappointed in BuffySummers' reaction, especially given the devastating critique Master Bra'tac had delivered after witnessing her fighting technique. Neither Teal'c himself, nor O'Neill or Major Carter who had been sitting beside him, quietly observing the session, had seen a fraction of the mistakes the old master had pointed out. The girl quite simply moved too fast, and their own comparatively limited experience was not up to the task of assessing the abilities of a warrior of BuffySummers' caliber. But it was obvious from her reaction that BuffySummers _had_ noticed those same weaknesses, and had been offended about being called on them. No Jaffa would have reacted in such a manner to the expert –and apparently _accurate_—critique from a warrior of Master Bra'tac's achievements. Rather than submitting to his greater experience and wisdom, she had been offended, indignant, and…well, _bitchy_, was the appropriate local vernacular.

Surprised that Master Bra'tac hadn't walked out hours earlier, despite the disrespect he had been subjected to, Teal'c considered the matter carefully, and decided that perhaps Miss Summers had reacted with such immaturity because she did not realize Master Bra'tac's standing within the Jaffa had been hard won though deeds and personal achievement. Granted the man was now a hundred and thirty seven years old, and far beyond his glory days. Perhaps Miss Summers' pride had been offended that she had been 'called out' by a man of his advanced years. Although he had managed to catch her by surprise at least once, which was likely more than her previous trainer had been able to do. She had, after all, mentioned that the one who trained her was not physically capable of matching even a fraction of the moves she was capable of performing. Given her apparent agreement with Master Bra'tac's criticisms, she should be more grateful for his wisdom, more open to his teachings.

After carefully considering the situation, Teal'c concluded that were he to pass on some information as to how Master Bra'tac had achieved his status among the Jaffa, perhaps she would be more willing to submit to his authority.

It was usually O'Neill who filled in the conversational void, but he was surprisingly quiet while they waited for Miss Summers to return from the shower, and Major Carter took her queue from her Commanding Officer. Teal'c wanted to ask his friends if they had found her actions as immature as he had, but felt uncomfortable about asking. O'Neill's relationship with Master Bra'tac was somewhat strained, and it was far more likely he had enjoyed watching the old man being subject to such indignities. Both he and, to a lesser extent Major Carter, maintained relationships with General Hammond which were far more casual than that which were maintained between the equivalent ranks within the Jaffa hierarchy. O'Neill likely did not have much issue with Miss Summers attempting to knock Master Bra'tac down from the lofty pedestal on which the Jaffa sometimes elevated their heroes. Even those who deserved to be placed on such a pedestal.

They had made themselves comfortable, knowing it would take BuffySummers considerable time to return. Several Jaffa field battalions could shower, shave, and perform their morning constitutional in the time it took Miss Summers to shower… and they would use less water. But finally she returned, walking with her arms stretched out in front of her, knees locked as she shuffled forward, eyes glazed, muttering "Braaaaain attack! Braaaaain attack!" Teal'c was confused, but O'Neill just grinned.

"How long have you been holding back the zombie cliché?"

Abandoning her strange manner of walking, BuffySummers smiled at them. "All day. Braaaaaae Tak. 'Braaaaain attack.' I was about ready to bust a gut."

Still not getting it, Teal'c decided to ignore it as just another cultural peculiarity. There had been a great many of them since he had joined up with the Tau'ri. And, from Major Carter's reaction, it wasn't that 'funny' anyway. In his experience, most cultural peculiarities weren't. Dismissing the incident, he got down to the business at hand. "You did not appear to enjoy your session with Master Bra'tac, BuffySummers."

Blinking in surprise, Buffy looked at O'Neill questioningly before turning back to face Teal'c. "_Que_?!? The guy is a typical PT; wants to kill me and blame it on my own weakness. I'm not _supposed_ to enjoy a session with a physical trainer, Teal'c. I'm just supposed to _survive_ it. And that's pretty much all I did, dammit."

She sounded petulant, but not angry. Or, at least, not angry at Master Bra'tac. Wondering if perhaps he might have overestimated the degree of resentment he had witnessed, Teal'c nonetheless stuck to his plan for attempting to build a bond of understanding between the Slayer and his mentor. "I ask because I observed some… friction... in your interaction. You specifically requested this training, but did not appear to be pleased when Master Bra'tac pointed out the very deficiencies in your fighting techniques which you desired to address."

Perhaps he should have left well enough alone, because now the Slayer was scowling at _him_. "Yeah, I wanted to 'address' it, but I didn't think there would be so much to 'address.' Dammit, I'm _good_ at this! Okay, I can be a bit of a spaz sometimes. But I work _hard_ at my training. Whatever discipline I have comes through in my martial arts. Before I was Called it was the same thing with my figure skating. I might be a flake in some other areas –okay, pretty much _all_ other areas-- but when it comes to kicking ass I take a back seat to nobody! Except now, that miserable bastard has rubbed my face in the fact that I've been slacking off in the one area I thought I hadn't neglected. I figured the guy would come in, see what I could do, and if not worship at my feet _might_ spot a trivial flaw in a minor technique.

"That jerk was poking holes in half of my best moves! I do a _kata_ each morning. You both know what that is, right? A slow, disciplined routine that prepares your body to handle the real thing. Well, my technique during the _kata_ is fucking _perfect_! Chinese monks would freakin' _weep_ in jealousy at how perfect I move! But when I go at full speed I cheat a little. Shift just a bit. Overbalance because I already know what I'm going to do next. I mean, who's gonna know, right?

"Well, that miserable old bastard knows. And he's right, damn him."

Teal'c was amazed to note that she was actually pouting. He had assumed it was just another cultural idiom. It appeared some among the Tau'ri actually _did_ 'pout.' "That does not answer my question, Miss Summers. Isn't he doing exactly what you wanted him to do? I do not understand why you verbally insulted him when he pointed out the very deficiencies you sought to address."

For a few seconds she looked at him like she thought he was stupid. That she had somehow already answered his question. "Because he was _right_! _Duh_."

Turning to O'Neill for assistance, his friend gave the wry smile which indicated he actually understood what the small female was saying, despite her words making no sense. Another problem related to cultural ethnocentrism, he assumed. "She didn't think your man would actually spot it, T. Now that he did, she actually has to face up to it and do something about it. And because he is the one 'making' her face up to it, it's all _his_ fault So she is giving him a hard time about 'making' her do what she already knew she should have done in the first place. It's a female thing." From the way the girl scowled at his friend --and Major Carter equally indignant glare--Teal'c concluded that O'Neill was correct in his assessment.

The logic of her actions escaped him, but this was far from the first time that had been the case in dealing with BuffySummers, Teal'c reminded himself. "If I understand you correctly, O'Neill, she sought to punish Master Bra'tac for explicitly noting what she already knew to be true."

Jack just shrugged, ignoring the glares being directed at both men. "Not so much 'punish' as 'try to piss off.' If Bra'tac blew a gasket and walked, then obviously he wouldn't have been able to spot her crappy fighting technique…" he ignored an indignant "_Hey_!" from the girl and continued "…so it's not so much that she could ignore it, it's more like if Bra'tac had bailed, the problem wouldn't exist in the first place. You've gotta work on your 'female' logic to understand issues like these, T."

His words of wisdom earned a second indignant "_Hey_!" and more glares, but both men silently communicated a mutual understanding that he spoke the simple truth. Teal'c was forced to point out a weakness in the young female's logic. "You will not drive Master Bra'tac away with mere words. He has given his word to General Hammond that he will train you, and he will do so despite your attempts to irritate him."

When he looked down at BuffySummers, her annoyed glare quickly turned into a rather… _evil_… smirk. "Wanna bet? You have no idea just how obnoxious I can be when I don't get my way. And Brain Attack? _Waaaay_ too pompous. Just give me a coupla' days."

With a barely audible sigh, Teal'c considered how to proceed. Granted that the girl could be rather irritating, there was little likelihood she could be so offensive as to deflect Bra'tac from what he saw as his duty. But she could certainly make the experience far more challenging that it needed to be, for both of them. "I sincerely doubt that even you could make Master Bra'tac 'lose his cool,' Miss Summers. His capacity for stoicism is legendary, and for good reason. He was the First Prime of Apophis when he concluded that the Goa'uld were not gods, and began his campaign against them. Had he ever betrayed his true feelings by the slightest gesture or action, he would have been tortured to death. No matter his personal inclinations, Master Bra'tac will perform his duty, regardless of any obstacles he might have to overcome."

"Is that a challenge, Mister T?"

Teal'c bestowed one of his more formidable glares on the small female, as he usually did when anyone annoyed him. Buffy met his eyes, undaunted, as she in turn usually was when she annoyed people. Privately Teal'c found that somewhat frustrating. He was proud of his glare. The power of his glare had been known to make strong men water themselves. It was frustrating they had so little effect on someone so small. "During his youth, long before he rose through the ranks to become First Prime, Bra'tac came to the attention of his superiors when he became the first person ever to escape the prison planet of Kalator.

"At the time, Apophis and Satesh were having a war over some trivial slight… one of Satesh's letters had been addressed with only twenty four of the full twenty six salutations due to a System Lord of his stature, I believe. The resulting war was minor; there were probably no more than eight thousand casualties among the Jaffa who actually fought it. Because it was so trivial, prisoners were kept alive rather than simply executed out of hand. Bra'tac was sent to Kalator with the other survivors, which even then was known to be escape-proof.

"Kalator is a mineralogical treasure-trove, due to the high concentration of metals within its over-sized core. But those very metals induce an extreme magnetic field which has forced life to evolve on the planet in a manner which is almost unique in this part of the galaxy. All life there exhibits what I am told is known as a 'left-handed helicity' in the orientation of amino acids. I am uncertain as to the biological meaning of this, but the end result is that nothing edible can grow on this world."

When she and O'Neill looked equally confused, an excited Carter attempted to explain. "I've heard about that planet! If we ever get the opportunity, I'd love to study the lifeforms there. It's like nothing we've ever seen. As you undoubtedly already know, amino acids are the building blocks of proteins, and although the proteins on Kalator look and act the same as those in most other organisms, the chirality is oriented with a left-ward bias, as opposed to the more ubiquitous right hand orientation found in virtually all biological entities on other worlds. I am certain Dr. Fraser could give you a far more rigorous explanation if you want…" from Buffy's confused look, Sam judged that she did _not_ so desire "…but the end result is that we have a planet with trees and insects and some small animals, but none of them can be processed or absorbed by digestive systems which evolved anywhere else. Much of it is also toxic due to the effects of enantiomers of known proteins causing unanticipated reactions when accepted by the receptors of eukaryotic organisms."

When she noticed O'Neill giving her a strange look, Sam figured that once again she was providing Too Much Information. She sighed. This was really _interesting_ stuff! Except, apparently, not. "It looks normal but you can't eat it because it's poisonous."

Teal'c continued after nodding politely in gratitude for her 'clarification.' "Since nothing local can be consumed, everything required to feed the local Jaffa population had to be imported from off-world, which represented a non-trivial expense for a minor System Lord such as Satesh. It will come as no surprise that he brought in only the cheapest, most basic dehydrated consumables he could purchase. Even his own soldiers guarding the prisoners were fed the most basic of food substitutes. As you can imagine, this did nothing to improve their disposition, so conditions on Kalator were barbaric in the extreme.

"Adding to the misery, the weather is abysmal. At the mine site, winters were long and harsh. The extraction facilities were primitive and the work back-breakingly strenuous. Due to the biological and climactic environment, settlement was impossible. Conditions were so harsh that only prisoners could be made to work there, and even then only could only be persuaded to work under the most painful of inducements. Torture and summary execution were commonplace. To a warrior like Bra'tac, such conditions were intolerable. He resolved to escape at the first opportunity, no matter the consequences. Despite his vow, he was actually imprisoned for more than an Earth-year before he found an opportunity to make his escape. At that time, of the 784 Jaffa warriors who had been captured with him, only 57 remained alive."

Buffy swallowed, remembering the Hell dimension she had experienced when she ran away to LA after killing Angel. The place Teal'c was describing might have actually been worse. Seeing that she understood, the big man continued. "Bra'tac was unloading stores from a supply shuttle during a raging blizzard. Conditions were so abysmal the guards supervising the operation refused to go outside. They had little to fear; the shuttle was under remote control so could not be appropriated, the landing area was in a walled-in enclosure, and of course there was nowhere to escape _to_. Still, conditions within the facility were so horrific he took the chance, since he assumed the supplies he was off-loading included food concentrates which he could live off of for some time. It was only _after_ he acted that he discovered the supplies were, in fact, lubricants for the mining equipment.

"By the time he discovered that, he had already killed two of the five guards. Naturally if was then too late to reassess his options, so he had no choice but to run. One of the pursuing guards foolishly attempted to prevent him from closing the external door by blocking it with his foot. Due to the environmental conditions that door was made of thick metal, and Bra'tac used its mass to crush the guard's leg, severing it completely from his body, causing the man to bleed to death. Bra'tac then used the severed leg as a club to kill the remaining two guards, who had unwisely attempted to stench the flow of blood from their fallen colleague.

"Bra'tac then made his escape, using the blizzard to conceal his trail and prevent anyone from following him. He walked for miles, despite having only the thinnest of clothing, until he found a cave which provided some shelter. He is a skilled outdoorsman, and was able to create a fire from locally-available materials. Despite its unique molecular arrangement, wood on Kalator burns the same as wood from anywhere else. The water was filled with microorganisms which could be lethal to alien lifeforms, but once boiled was potable. He had to make clothing from local vegetation, and keep moving to ensure he wasn't located by the sensors carried by prison search parties. Somehow, he was able to do all this for seventy three days, until he was able to make his escape, by…"

O'Neill interrupted at that point. "_Seventy three days_!? Without food? In winter, when he couldn't make a fire big enough to be spotted by thermal sensors? I think the old boy was stretching the truth just a bit, T."

Meeting his eyes steadily, Teal'c kept his voice even. "He _did_ have sustenance, O'Neill."

"You said the supplies were just grease. So what did he eat?"

"The guard's leg."

There was dead silence for several long seconds, before Buffy's pretty face scrunched up in a disgusted expression. "_Ewwwwwww_!!!!"

O'Neill, on the other hand, was slightly more impressed. He'd never really liked Bra'tac, but… _damn_. "Okay, color me impressed. That is seriously Hard Core." Sam appeared to agree with Buffy, but didn't want to seem like a wuss so nodded like she agreed with her boss.

"Indeed." Giving them some time to consider his mentors actions, Teal'c prepared to carry on with the tale. Buffy, however, wanted nothing to do with it, and held up her hands, one at right angles on top of the other in a signal Teal'c recognized from one of the local athletic endeavors as calling for a 'time out.' "Is there a problem, Miss Summers?"

"He doesn't _eat_ anyone else on the way out, does he?"

"No. But capturing a hyper-capable ship required considerable violence and brilliant improvisational tactics in order to lead a group of…"

Once again, she interrupted. "Teal'c, it _doesn't matter_ what he did to get out. _He ate the man's leg_! You already made your point! Anything after the 'eating of the leg' is pretty much redundant. The guy is a complete _badass_! He is not going to throw a tantrum over me telling him he should have used Noxzema when his face first broke out. And if I do manage to piss him off that much, he might _eat my frickin' leg_!! Enough already. I _get_ it! I'll be good. _Sheeesh_."

She stormed off, or at least attempted to do so, but was not quite sufficiently imposing to pull it off the way she probably intended. Carter took the opportunity to leave as well, and both men just stood and watched them until they were out of sight. Without turning to face his friend, O'Neill asked the question he had wanted to pose earlier. "Do _you_ know what 'chirality' means?"

"I believe it is a breakfast cereal, O'Neill."

"Those are Cheerios."

The big Jaffa raised one eyebrow, dismissing the matter. "Despite her extensive combat experience, Buffy Summers continues to underestimate her opponents. It is incumbent upon us, as her teachers, to show by example that she cannot do everything alone. Given that she uses her own unthreatening appearance as a method of tactical surprise, she should be more open to the possibility that others appearances may conceal equally unexpected depths."

For a few seconds, O'Neill considered his words, before finally agreeing. "She's been looking at Bra'tac as just a washed-up has-been. You want to let her know what it took for him to survive this long."

"Indeed."

"I think you'd be surprised. I think she already knew. Maybe not the fact that he enjoys chowing down on the occasional thigh, but I don't think she'd have tried to push his buttons that hard if she didn't think there was something there worth discovering." When the Jaffa raised an eyebrow, questioningly, O'Neill recalled the look on Bra'tac's face. The excitement even a man so notoriously stone-faced couldn't hide. "I don't think she's had a lot of good male influences in her life, and probably more than a few bad ones. To the point where to gain her respect, a man is going to have to earn it the hard way. What surprises me though is that I think Bra'tac knew it too. And he didn't mind, because he's been worshipped by the Jaffa for too long. He wants to _earn_ her respect. The same way Buffy wants to earn his.

"I think Hammond knew exactly what he was doing. No real surprise there. He usually does…"

--

The room was rarely used anymore. The Russians were more-or-less allies, and the eavesdropping devices it was designed to suppress were far too primitive to be used by the Asgard. But they weren't the opposition the five people in the room wanted to hide from. It was their own government and its minions they didn't want listening in, and the room would do a perfectly adequate job of doing just that.

It was built under the War Room, in the NORAD part of Cheyenne Mountain. Normally the SGC had no need for it, and truth be told, neither did NORAD any more. But for a quiet planning session, it couldn't be beat. No electro-magnetic energy could escape it once the door was sealed. Recording devices would not work inside. Buffy and dogs would hear an ultrasonic hum, but most people wouldn't, and the hum prevented even solid state recorders from working. In some ways that was unfortunate, because Posterity would have welcomed the Meeting Minutes of a series of conferences where humans planned the overthrow of a being of god-like power.

Buffy hadn't really wanted to join the sessions, even though they were for her benefit. Even the Asgard had acknowledged that she wasn't a good planner. Her strength was in innovating on the fly. All of the military people had just shook their heads in exasperation at her. All had pointed out to her that, in the end, she would be 'winging it' in the end, no matter how carefully they planned, no matter how accurate their data. 'No plan ever survives contact with the enemy' wasn't just a saying; it was Holy Writ. The secret wasn't knowing where you were; it was in knowing where you wanted to be. A plan gave you a good measure of where you stood in relation to where you wanted to be, and a path to get there. It was that path they were preparing.

Only Buffy kept 'notes' on a hardened USB memory chip. Nothing was kept on the local computers. For some reason she had expected them to have a table lit from underneath where they moved little men and horsies around a map as they planned their battle, but when she mentioned that O'Neill looked at her like she was an idiot. Like everyone else, military planners used computers. Powerful computers which asked questions. Lots and lots of questions. All nested, so that the answers to upper level questions lead to increasingly diverse downstream questions. They didn't know the answers to a lot of the questions. Those answers would be their main objective once they began their initial reconnaissance of Buffy's homeworld. But there were enough answers already to point them in the direction they wanted to go.

_What resources do you have? _

_What do you know that your opponent doesn't? _

_What constraints is your opponent operating under? _

_What is your opponents ultimate objective?_

_What is _your_ ultimate objective? _

The answers were keyed in one at a time. Buffy_ wanted to kill the First. How? Use the Key. How? Dunno, but the Key is only thing potentially powerful enough to do it. Potentially? Conditions would have to be just right. Why? In normal space, the Key is almost powerless. It's on an alternate time-stream. In most alternate dimensions, the fight would destroy most of the universe. They need to move the conflict into a place where it can be fought until one of them wins. Where? A really, really weird space 'outside' of the normal universe. How? Dunno, but Glory tried to use a portal. _

The questions continued, hour after hour. Days passed. Despite loving Tara's cooking, Buffy began sleeping in her cell under the Mountain again, as her restless nights were consumed by Slayer dreams. Apocalyptic dreams. Dreams about the end of not just the world, but the end of _everything_.

--

One morning, when she went down to the mess hall for breakfast, as she often did, Buffy was disconcerted to recognize a face seated at one of the tables. Permission had come through to begin preparations for assisting Buffy in her efforts to oppose the First, and personnel and equipment were flooding into the SGC. Hundreds of new soldiers and scientists had arrived at the Mountain, and all of them knew who Buffy was. She was pretty uncomfortable with the awe and veneration they directed at her –to say nothing of the lust—and usually tried to sit with the old hands, who were more comfortable with her due to familiarity. Her enhanced hearing permitted her to listen in on conversations which were intended to be private, and she frequently had to restrain herself from getting up and beating the crap out of someone making a graphically sexual remark they had no idea she could overhear. But until someone said something unforgivable she tried to ignore it, mostly, because she didn't know them any more than they knew her. This time she did.

It had been a long time, but the dark skin and shaved head was unmistakable. He was louder than the others, cruder, more deliberately offensive. They were looking at her as well, only being more furtive about it, making the standard sexual comments, but mostly because it was expected by their peers. Only Forrest pushed the envelope, to the point where his commanding officer shut him down when it looked like someone from another table might do it for him. Naturally, they all then turned on their CO, teasing him for his 'goody two shoes' nature, his innocence, his basic decency. The ribbing was normal, expected among the tough, he-man types in Special Forces, but in this particular case it pissed Buffy off something severely. She knew better than to call them on their sexist Neanderthal mindset, but ganging up on someone just because he wasn't acting like an uncivilized primate was just too much.

Abruptly rising, ignoring whatever O'Neill had been saying, she made her way over to their table, noting the abrupt wave of silence suddenly falling throughout the crowded dining facility. But she kept her eye on Forrest, remembering the glare, but this time noting an underlying concern. Not _fear_ –he had never been afraid of her—but a recognition that he was a newbie, and pissing off someone with her status within his new organization the first day he was there would _not_ go down well. Knowing that, she smiled at him, but her eyes were not amused. "You look better with your head attached. The whole cyborg look? Not a good one for you, Forrest."

She didn't raise her voice, but in the dead silence of the packed dining room her voice carried to every corner. Noting his shocked confusion, she increased the wattage of her smile and continued. "I always wondered what you were supposed to bite with that bionic jaw. And what was the point in having a mechanical arm strong enough to lift a truck when it was attached to a normal human spine? The whole design was absurd. Riley had to kill you in the end, of course. You blowed up _real_ good! We put your bits into a Hefty bag, tossed them into the Recycle Bin, then we went home and had pizza and beer." Buffy was going to say something about how she had also always wondered if his anger at her was due to repressed homosexual attraction towards Riley, and jealousy over their relationship, but figured making an enemy for life wasn't worth the momentary amusement of asking him.

Turning away from him only after meeting his eyes long enough to pass on the message that she could have taken it up a notch if she'd wanted to, Buffy simply nodded at the man seated beside him. "Graham." As she expected, Miller simply returned the nod, his eyes steady, assessing. Ice to Forrest's fire. Riley had made Forrest his 2IC, but Buffy had always privately thought he'd made a mistake. In her eyes, Graham had always been the better man, despite his lower test scores. But she wasn't a soldier, and it hadn't been her call, so she hadn't said anything.

Finally there was the man in question. Howdy Doodie himself… in the nicest possible way. Handsome, clean cut, tall, strong, intelligent, didn't smoke, or swear, wrote home to his mom every week… Riley was so fucking perfect she sometimes wanted to scream. He was a cardboard cutout of a man; next to him, _Spike_ had been more human. He was everything she had grown up wanting in a man… and once she had him, she found herself bored to tears as soon as the initial new-relationship rush faded. Which wasn't at all fair to him. He was what he was, and once he left it did not take him long to find someone who appreciated those qualities she found so aggravating. Maybe it was because she herself was so _im_perfect, that she was enraged by perfection in others. From what she saw, Riley's wife had been as perfect as he was. They were well matched. There were times when she had full-color fantasies of shooting them both in the head.

No wonder she had jumped into bed with Spike. It had been pretty embarrassing at the time, but she cringed even more at the alternative. Pining for Riley… seeking out perfection, then being bored to tears once she found it. Just thinking about it made her skin crawl. But that didn't mean she couldn't appreciate him now for what he was: probably the most genuinely decent man she'd ever known. Even Giles had had a dark side. Undoubtedly so did Riley, but he was a man she would always trust to watch her back. Which was more than she could say with any of the other strangers in the silent dining room. "Hello Riley. Do you have a few minutes?"

--

Knowing she was elevating his status from 'untried newbie' to 'Studly Man-God' just by acknowledging his existence within such company, Finn immediately jumped to his feet, ignoring the breakfast he hadn't touched. The top of her head barely reached the level of his shoulder, leaving him stunned that someone so small had done what he had witnessed when the networks rebroadcast her fight with the alien monster. He wanted to say something, something cool, something to his friends, smugly gloating but not too offensive, but couldn't remember their names, or actually remember how to talk either. Fortunately, training allowed his legs to move despite the fact that his brain was stuck in neutral. Riley Finn couldn't believe what was happening. _Buffy Summers _wanted to talk to _him_. Holy cow.

The past few months had been so mind-blowing he could barely recall the world as it existed only a short time before. Two months ago he had been the apex of God's Creation; humanity was unique, their place in the universe assured. Then the revelation about aliens. The StarGate. War with the Goa'uld. He had immediately volunteered his team for Offworld duties, of course. They'd already been to Iraq twice, and nobody wanted a return visit. The 'Stan might have been more interesting… but compared to fighting intelligent parasitic snakes on an alien planet, even the mountains of Afghanistan weren't quite so exotic. Then, once they'd arrived, they were selected to take part in a newer, potentially even more critical battle, in a _completely different universe_. A battle being encouraged by the mighty Asgard, under the direct leadership of the already-mythical Slayer herself.

And now, that same Slayer had just come up to him, obviously knew him, and invited him to take a walk. Holy cow. Just… _wow_! Everyone was looking at him. The room was dead silent. Even Colonel O'Neill was staring at him from the head table, his eyes assessing, to say nothing of the other members of his unit. He knew what the other guys thought of him –they respected his abilities, but considered him to be a bit of a dork—but that reputation had just changed dramatically. And he hadn't even done anything yet! Not that he would really mind doing something. She was even prettier up-close than she had appeared on television. Smaller, more vulnerable; less Slayer and more woman. A person instead of a caricature. Who walked really fast, and he was falling behind.

Rushing to catch up, he waited until they were in the corridor, beyond prying ears, before finally remembering how to communicate. "I… uhm… take it we know each other, on your world?"

Without turning to look at him, Buffy nodded, not really sure what to say. She hadn't really thought things through before acting, not an unusual situation for her to be in, but had just been upset over them ribbing her old boyfriend. That was _her_ job. Or at least it used to be. "We were… _close_. Pretty much lived together for awhile. I screwed it up, of course."

When she turned to look at him, he wore a charmingly shy, if slightly sly smile. "Want another chance?"

Buffy laughed, once again surprised by how endearingly sweet Riley could be when he put his mind to it. He was the very antithesis of Spike. Which of course was part of the problem. But at least now she could appreciate Riley for the man he was, if not the man she wanted him to be. "The problems we ran into, well, they would still be there. I don't think I'm the girl you want to bring home to your mother."

"I not so sure about that. Mother is actually one of your biggest fans. She called all the neighbors when she found out I was being reassigned to the SGC."

Smirking at him a bit evilly, Buffy got just a little bit nasty. "Would she still be a fan after I told her we once got trapped in a haunted house by a sexually-repressed poltergeist and were 'forced' to do the horizontal-mambo for literally _hours_ to power up a bunch of horny little ghosts?"

It had been _soooo_ long since she had seen a man blush. It really was cute. After a few seconds, Riley recovered enough to talk, despite his dry mouth. "Uhm… I think it might go over better if you said that I was reading poetry to you… while fully clothed… in another room… where you were visiting… accompanied by a chaperone… who was a nun. Mother is a bit… old-fashioned."

"And I'm _not_. Hence the lack of a 'happily ever after.' Don't worry about it though. The sex was _great_!" She had almost forgotten how much fun it was to tease Riley. He really was a sweet guy. Unfortunately, somewhere along the line, she had stopped being a 'sweet' girl. Noting how red his face had become, Buffy laughed, more at herself than him, but made up for it by wrapping one of his muscular forearms in both of hers. "It wasn't a horrible breakup, Riley. Well, it _did_ involve unmarked black helicopters, a wild chase scene, and a few stakings of random vampires; but by Sunnydale standards wasn't _too_ far over the top. I'd still trust you with my life. Which is good, because I'm fairly certain that after my little display back there Jack is going to assign you to do just that."

Riley simply nodded, aware of what this would mean to his career, but mostly awed by what she had said earlier. Never having previously imagined his name and the word 'stud' appearing in the same sentence, he was almost dizzy with the effort it took to suppress an imagination which wanted to put pictures to her words. Despite his strict upbringing he had no objections to pre-marital sex. It was just that he'd never pictured himself indulging in such activities with a girl like _Buffy Summers_. Although he would have liked to pursue the personal parts of the discussion, Riley also knew his team was counting on him, and if they were suddenly going to be taking a lead position on this assignment then he had better get his mind out of the gutter. No matter what had happened in another reality, in this one the girl was effectively his boss. "You can count on us, ma'am."

Sputtering with a combination of horror and amusement, Buffy settled for glaring up at the much taller man. "I'll make you a deal, Riley. You don't call me 'ma'am' and I won't tell your friends about the two of us having oral sex on a balcony overlooking the park while the rest of the team were down below thinking we were backing them up in the hunt for a Lei-Ach demon."

This time it was Riley's turn to sputter, his expression so filled with horror that Buffy could only laugh, her good mood restored. She didn't love Riley, but she did _like_ him, and it was nice to be able to just tease someone with no malice, no underlying motivations. No one she knew was so easy to tease. Sobering a bit, Buffy reminded herself that not even his counterpart had been so easy to tease. Especially not after he got wrung through the graduate course in fun that had been Sunnydale. "Can I give you some advice, Riley?"

"Of course."

What else was he going to say? Silently shaking her head, Buffy clasped his hand with hers, her other hand lightly grasping his forearm. "When we first met, you were a lot like you are now. Sweet. Decent. Very good at what you do. But naïve as hell."

He didn't say anything, but Buffy felt the way his arm muscles momentarily tensed. Obviously he'd heard the word tossed his way before, and didn't like it. But it was the truth, and if he was going to work with her he needed to know, so she continued. "You were so filled with youthful idealism. Mom, apple pie, and the Flag. You were a walking recruiting poster! And everyone took advantage of it. You trusted your superiors to have motives as pure as yours. You trusted your men to be as honorable as you were. And you trusted me to be the girl you _wanted_ me to be, instead of the girl I really _was_. For our own reasons we all took advantage of you; but you _let us_. You can't afford that sort of innocence, Riley. The price was too high last time, and you won't enjoy the lesson any better this time around."

Once again she could feel the almost imperceptible muscle contractions, and knew him well enough to follow his thought processes without a word being said. He was thinking that she didn't know _him_. That he was older and wiser than her. That nobody could have achieved what he had if he were _that_ naïve. That he didn't want to be one of the old, cynical officers he saw all too often. That she was gorgeous, but he already understood why they'd broken up. "I am what I am, Miss Summers."

Surprisingly, she smiled up at him, not offended by his cold tone. "That's what I said, Riley. You're a decent, wonderful man. But you're working in an occupation filled with _not_-so-decent, _not_-so-wonderful men. Lives depend on you. _My_ life will probably depend on you. If you're anything like the Riley I remember, I'm about the ten billionth person to give you that same warning. There are _bad people_ out there, Riley. And they'll use you if they can."

Before he could state that he was well aware of that fact, Buffy continued. "That was the real reason we broke up. I'm not sure if it was me or just the circumstances that made my life such a non-stop amusement ride of sheer joy, but in the end, between us, we broke something in you. Something important, something that made you the man you were. You had to leave to find yourself again. Reassemble what you could of your honor, your faith in God and your fellow man. We just about destroyed you, Riley. You thought I was an angel, and couldn't imagine me associating with monsters. You thought two 'wrongs' could never make a 'right,' and that the 'good guys' always won.

"Pretty much everyone you trusted betrayed you in one way or another. I'm not kidding about you having to kill Forrest. Yeah, a 'not-fun' time was had by all."

Riley had heard enough. Stopping, turning to face the girl, he only dimly felt her hands release his arm, too irritated to miss the comforting warmth. "Why are you telling me this?"

Earlier, he had noticed that her eyes were beautiful. He hadn't realized they were so ancient, filled with the remembrance of horrors he could not even imagine. Suddenly these were not the hazel eyes of a pretty girl; these were the eyes of a _Slayer_, witnesses to things mere mortals were not meant to see. Didn't want to see. Should be grateful for never having seen. "Do you believe in God, Riley?"

"Of course." He didn't even have to think about his answer.

"I _don't_." She didn't have to think about it either, and her eyes were cold as she met his shocked gaze. "I _died_, and I went to heaven itself, and I _still_ don't believe in God. I _don't_ believe in a God who would permit what was done to the First Slayer, just to clean up the mess He left behind. I _don't_ believe in a God who would do terrible things to decent people for reasons too obscure for us to understand. I _don't_ believe in a God who would 'reward' faith with pain, and worship with disillusionment. And I _especially_ don't believe in a God who would demand that I _sacrifice my sister_ to prevent something evil from happening! I _don't_ believe in a God who would do those things, Riley.

"But I _do_ believe in a _Devil_ who would. And I will fight that miserable bastard with my dying breath."

A that moment Riley could not believe he had ever doubted this woman could do what he had seen her do at the airport. Her eyes were so cold, so intense with the depth of her commitment and barely-leashed rage, that he knew to the deepest part of his soul that _this_ was the Slayer, and he would forget it at his peril. This was someone he had better listen to. "You're a religious man, Riley. The last time you were in Sunnydale you were shattered so badly by what you saw that you had a crisis of faith. One you overcame, but at a terrible cost. If you're going to do this, you had better prepare yourself for what you are going to see. Because I am fighting the Devil itself. To beat her, I will unleash Hell. And I am _not_ speaking metaphorically."

Seeing that he was beginning to understand, Buffy got to the point. "If this goes the way it did back home, it won't be long before Generals are calling you up to tell you to spy on me, and they want you to get me to do what they want, because you're a soldier and are supposed to follow their orders. Politicians will come calling, telling you to spy on me and they want you to get me to do what they want, because you're an American citizen and they represent The People. When you talk to the local priest, he's going to tell you to spy on me, and he wants you to get me to do what he wants, because you're a good Christian and he speaks for God.

"They are all _full of crap_. Don't fall into that trap again, Riley. You know the difference between right and wrong. You don't get to do the 'wrong' thing and blame it on 'following orders.' You did that before, and you should already know what lies at the end of that path."

Rapidly getting over his instant crush, Riley met her eyes with a glare of his own. "Usually those people have more experience and information than I do, Miss Summers. One of the reasons I follow _lawful_ orders is because I value the insight and accountability of a valid chain of command. Decisions are not arrived at by fiat. You're standing there, lecturing me about being a wimp because I _follow orders_, but it sure seems like that is what you want me to do, only _your_ orders and no one else's."

Buffy sighed. She really did need to work on her speech-making abilities. This had been so much clearer when she'd argued it out in her head. Or maybe Riley was just being Riley. "I don't recall asking you to follow my damned orders, Riley. What I said was that I wanted you to follow _your own conscience_ instead of doing what you're told like a good little boy. And don't give me any crap about 'experience.' I have more experience in these things than every one of those idiots combined, and I sure as hell am a lot more accountable. When I screw up, I _die_! I won't ask for blind obedience from you or anyone else. But I also can't afford to wait for you to get approval from everyone on your 'Older and Wiser' list every time I ask you to do something. I don't think that's too much to ask."

It wasn't, but he was still offended. "I have never given you or anyone else reason to question my integrity, Miss Summers."

This time, she met his eyes without flinching. "Obviously you _have_, or I wouldn't have brought it up in the first place. I could really use you on this, Riley. I know what you can do, and I know the kind of man you are. But I can't have you going behind my back. You're too good a soldier not to know how badly things end when there are multiple chains of command." She could tell that he was still angry, but at least was listening, so gently patted his arm. "You backed me up last time because you _chose_ to. You went against your orders, and your superiors, and even your team to do it. It was the right thing to do, and the only reason any of us survived. But you had to go through some serious soul-searching before you came to a decision, and managed to piss off pretty much everyone before you did. So figure out what you are going to do _now_, before it's too late. Otherwise you're going to watch your friends die. Again."

--

Several weeks later a high-ranking group arrived to observe the return of the Quantum Mirror to the Gate Room. Although Hammond had recommended that it be destroyed, there was never even the slightest possibility that it would be. Everyone knew the threat it represented, but everyone was equally aware that it also provided a uniquely powerful option should there be a _ahem_ 'cause for concern within the planetary defense posture.' In other words, if they couldn't reach the Alpha Site, high government officials wanted another bolt hole. It had been under heavy guard at Area 51, isolated so that even if someone tossed a nuke through from the other side, damage would be minimal. Scientists had tried but so far failed to come up with a workable iris like that on the StarGate. Until they did, the Mirror never went anywhere unless there was enough firepower nearby to stop anything that might pop out of it.

So the already-formidable defenses within the Gate Room had been seriously upgraded. The Asgard had provided designs for some kind of electromagnetic shield for the X-302 which was adapted for a more mundane purpose, there were gas jets and flames and rockets and machine guns and for all Buffy knew even a bear or two, oh my. They knew her original universe had its own Quantum Mirror on Earth because Buffy had a dream about it, which was also how she knew which among the infinite combinations on the control device would open it on her old world. That 'Gate was located deep in a cave in the middle of nowhere in eastern Turkey. Not far from Mt. Ararat, oddly enough.

The initial group to go through would have to dig out of the cave, then make their way to the surface, where Forrest would have to make arrangements to get both himself and the Mirror to the States. He was the only one the SGC knew who did not have a counterpart alive on the other side, and since they didn't want to warn the First about ECF they would just have to live with the fact that it would take some time for Forrest to do everything by himself. Fortunately, time was not a priority. Given the time distortion, even if it took him a year, only a month would pass for the rest of them.

Preparations were begun for the leap into the unknown. Power was provided by the 'sending' side, so fortunately there was no need for the 'receiving' Mirror to be 'plugged in' to its own power source. The scientists were surprised when it took far more power than usual to maintain a stable link with the 'Buffy-verse.' They had to draw nearly 1200 megawatts of power from the national grid over and above their own internal supply to maintain the link. It probably had something to do with the 'magical' nature of her universe, and theories were tossed out to explain the differences. A team was sent through for a quick trip to clean out the cave where the local Mirror had been hidden, and to set out testing equipment to determine what they might face once the full team was deployed.

Finally, three weeks later by their calendar, everything was ready, and the first phase of the operation was begun. It was time for Buffy to introduce herself to the Ronin.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

Return To Normal

--

**Chapter Eleven**

**-- **

Nobody who knew Buffy would have recognized her as she walked along the downtown sidewalk. First of all, her fluorescent orange hair was bright enough to be seen from low earth orbit. She wore specialized running shoes with stiff soles, and, amazingly, rather than the leathers she preferred, she had on loose fitting painter pants. On top she wore a bulky sweatshirt over a thin cotton t-shirt, with big yellow-tinged sunglasses covering her distinctive green eyes. What looked like a generic mp3 player was velcroed to her forearm, earbud headphones in each ear. On her hands she wore thin leather gloves, the fingers cut off so that only the palm was protected. Despite never having physically been to New Jersey before, she walked confidently, with the ease of complete familiarity. An SGC team has photographed everything in the downtown area of the small city where Dawn had last been seen, digitized it, and set up a holographic reproduction back at Cheyenne Mountain. Buffy had walked through the simulation a dozen times, memorizing every building, every alley.

Pausing occasionally as she walked down the street, careful to ensure that she had her bearings at every moment, Buffy waited for the tingle of awareness which would indicate that another Slayer was nearby. It wasn't quite the same sensation she got when she sensed a vampire or another demonic being was in the vicinity, but the essence of a slayer was demonic in nature, and set off her spider-sense in the same manner. At least Faith had always done so. She'd been too busy to notice if anything similar had happened when Willow's spell activated the Potentials, but she didn't anticipate that the new slayers would be any different. Her confidence was rewarded soon afterwards when she felt a slight, almost subconscious tingle, the merest twinge of psychic awareness that someone super-natural was in the vicinity.

Her 'mp3 player' had been provided by the Asgard, a specialized version of the 'psychic shield' they had reverse-engineered from the device she took from the Doci at the Colorado Springs airport. Because of her unique connection to the First they wanted to be really certain that the one she wore would not fail no matter how hard the First tried to find her, so while everyone else got an Earth-made equivalent, Buffy's version used Asgard materials and Asgard technology. It was sealed and tamper-proof, which had made Sam sigh a bit with frustration, but nobody got too upset at the evidence that the Asgard wanted Earth to develop its own technology at its own pace. The SGC had seen too many examples of other cultures which had been stunted by an over-reliance on external sources of technological development to feel comfortable risking the retardation of their own innovative talents. Even knowing the reason, Sam still found it a bit of a bummer to have something more than a thousand years more advanced than her best hardware at hand and not be able to tinker with it.

The Asgard had been able to fit in a sophisticated encrypted spread-spectrum UHF receiver into the device, which was compatible with SGC radios and encryption algorithms. It even played mp3s; but it wouldn't work with iTunes. Buffy had whined about that something fierce the next time she saw Thor. She had found him to be surprisingly unsympathetic about it, even when subjected to her best pout. But, despite that major failing, the important point was that so long as she wore it, the First would not be aware that Buffy Summers had returned home.

Casually making a sign with her left hand, she almost immediately heard a click in her ear acknowledging that the team monitoring her had received her signal that a slayer had arrived. She was pleased by the speed of the response, since it confirmed that the tiny camera-equipped flying disk hovering unseen somewhere in the air above her was actually in position, and the SGC was tracking her. Buffy didn't look around to see if she could spot the slayer following her, just kept walking normally, but hoped the SGC really could tap into the cell phone calls they expected the girl would soon be making to her contacts within Dawn's organization. The communications system built into the device only worked one way; she could receive their information, but couldn't speak to the SGC controllers. There were technical reasons why the device could not act as a transmitter, but she hadn't understood them, so had merely accused Thor of not wanting the hassle of having her bother the people at the other end with a lot of questions. O'Neill, damn him, had agreed with her suspicions, and thanked Thor profusely for it.

It took about ten minutes for her senses to twinge with indications of additional nearby slayers. Six more, spread out, three coming up from behind, two approaching from the front, the original one still on the sidewalk on the other side of the street. Without being obvious about it Buffy turned at the next corner, to all appearances window shopping, but the abrupt change threw the approaching slayers out of position to make their planned intercept. The holographic display built into her 'sunglasses' suddenly showed a map, her location marked by an icon, additional icons showing the other slayers re-deploying, three on foot, four jumping into the vehicle they had probably been intending to stuff her into. It quickly took off, to loop around the street in an attempt to get in front of her. Buffy smiled a bit in anticipation; the SGC really did have the coolest toys, and she was looking forward to seeing how much of an advantage they could give her.

When her display unit showed the car approaching, Buffy turned down another street, increasing her pace, letting her pursuers know they had been detected, the one-way street she was now on forcing the car to circle around again because it was coming in the wrong direction. The three slayers following her on foot were once again out of position to make an intercept, forcing them to break their furtive attempts at following her if they wanted to maintain contact. That allowed the hovering remotely piloted vehicle to get good images of each of them, Sam's computers able to track them continuously from then on using sophisticated Facial Recognition software. A sudden arrow flashing in her display had Buffy abruptly turning down yet another street, the SGC team noting a second approaching vehicle, their signal intercepts from another hovering RPV indicating that her pursuers were calling its occupants so automatically designating it a threat. Increasing her pace yet again, Buffy took a quick look around, not really searching for the slayers trying to corral her, but looking for familiar landmarks, for the routes she had memorized during her walk-through preparations back at the Mountain. It was just about show-time and she wanted to be in the proper position for when the curtain was raised.

Adjusting her pace to let them get closer, using the HUD only to back up her own senses, Buffy waited until the last possible instant, timing it like the virtuoso performance she hoped it would be, waiting for them to be almost close enough to reach out and touch her, before suddenly sprinting full-out across a busy street. Cars jammed on their brakes, horns pounded by angry drivers as the approaching slayers were caught by surprise by her sudden move. The alley Buffy entered looked to be a dead end, so the pursuing group figured they had the time to bring in the second chase car to block off the entrance. They were far behind her when Buffy used her _parkour_ training, added to her own innate slayer strength and dexterity and balance, to leap up near the corner of one wall, use her momentum to bounce up another wall, at right angles to the first, bringing her high enough to reach a protruding pipe, which she used to lift herself up with one hand. Once balanced on the short length of pipe she was high enough to leap up and grab the top of the wall blocking the alley, and a finger-hold was more than enough for her to use slayer strength to lift herself up to the top of what had looked like a sheer three-storey high wall.

Casually waving down at the four slayers now standing around in the alley, looking furious and more than a bit embarrassed, Buffy walked along the top of the concrete wall to the building on one side, and jumped out, easily making the twenty foot leap to a ledge extending around the front side of the third floor of that building, landing on her toes and wriggling her arms and butt a bit to kill her momentum. The ledge was only a few inches wide, but that was more than enough room for Buffy to walk almost casually around to the front, where she found the stone of the architectural frontispiece provided easy handholds to climb down to a canopy above the front entrance. She slid down, grabbed the bar, flipped, and effortlessly dropped to the sidewalk. A few random pedestrians were staring at her, open-mouthed, one or two even applauding, but she just smiled at them, and waved at the slayer trying to follow her after being boosted up the alley wall by her companions, but now hopelessly far behind her. She started jogging down the street, her fancy HUD showing that the other slayers were circling around the block, now using three vehicles, moving to trap her by converging where the road terminated around some buildings to her east. Which was perfectly fine with Buffy. That was the direction she wanted to go anyway.

Which didn't mean she didn't intend to make them work for it. Increasing her pace once she got her bearings, she found the building she was looking for, and began climbing a four-inch-diameter drain pipe which extended from the street all the way to the roof, climbing hand-over-hand with amazing speed, her hard-soled shoes able to get purchase in the small intervals between brick layers. Once on the roof she ignored the watching crowd to walk along the roof edge, leaping across another alley to catch the ledge of yet another building, pulled herself up using only her arms to the roof, which provided her with a way out of the neighborhood by conveniently abutting an industrial area. A small pipe permitted her to slide down the wall just far enough so that with a powerful kick she was able to sail over the high fence surrounding the industrial park. She added a back-flip just for show before landing in the rough weeds on the other side. Even though the fence was topped with strands of barbed wire Buffy knew it wouldn't keep the other slayers out for long, so quickly got to her feet and started jogging towards the low buildings ahead.

Like most industrial parks there were warehouses, small businesses, deserted buildings and truck storage yards in close proximity to railway lines. Buffy ran to the nearest warehouse, used a steel handrail as a launch platform to jump up high enough to grab the frame of an overhanging sign. Swinging around and up, she jammed her feet into a tight corner, which provided just enough leverage to free her hands to grab the frame and lift herself up to the top of the sign, where she easily jumped over to the flat roof. After a quick check of her HUD, and a confirming glance using her Mark-One eyeball that she had been followed, she ran north along the edge of the roof, leaping the gap to another warehouse, which put her in position to jump the thirty foot gap to an old, decaying pedestrian bridge structure which had once allowed people to cross the busy train tracks before that part of the industrial zone had been essentially abandoned. The structure was still partially intact even if the access stairs had been removed, and she was able to use it to walk over the train tracks below. Without that vantage point for a jump over to the bridge, the two slayers who had been chasing her on the ground below were trapped on the other side by the moving train. After Buffy slid down to ground level again by gripping the sides of the steel I-beams holding up the old bridge, using her feet to control the speed of her descent, she turned back to cheerfully wave at the two slayers through the gaps in the moving train cars. For some reason they looked a bit irritated. Sticking her tongue out at them probably didn't help their mood.

Knowing that it wouldn't take long for the train to pass, or for the slayers to climb up the abandoned pedestrian bridge so they could make the same jump, Buffy started running, heading towards a more populated area, but a less trendy neighborhood than she had been in at the start of the chase. There were apartment buildings, low-rent housing, and she smiled as she ran around and under parked trucks in the warehouse area, Jack's voice in her headphones indicating that they had finally gotten a lock on the signals coming from the helicopter the slayers were using to track her, and they could jam it if she gave them the signal. Sam had also gotten deep enough into the cell phone network to get a positive lock on every one of the calls being made by each phone used by each girl on the intercept team, giving her a complete picture of the locations of the pursuing teams, including those supporting the operation by monitoring the telemetry being down-linked from the helicopter. She was presently tracking several other calls to external sites, trying to locate their command post. None of them really expected she would be successful, but it was worth a shot. Either result would tell them a lot about the competence of the organization Dawn had built up.

Running out of the industrial park through the main entrance, which had been opened to admit a huge 18-wheeler that blared its horn loudly as she barely missed being run over to get through the rapidly-closing gate, Buffy saw on her HUD that two of the three cars were approaching from the north and west. They were still far enough away that she had some time to look around, to assess the area, and chose her optimal line of attack. It wouldn't do to get too far ahead, so she reduced her pace, ignoring the shouts from the guards back at the gate that she had been trespassing on private property, and smiled at the old wrought-iron rails and fire-escapes on the buildings in the neighborhood. It wasn't quite _parkour_ nirvana –the buildings were a bit too widely spaced to make it 'perfect'—but it was better than the last area had been, and she soon began climbing a convenient fire escape.

From the roof of the six storey building she had selected, she had a much better view of the urban landscape. Her HUD provided an overlay showing street names and the locations of the incoming slayers. She could hear the helicopter far overhead, but was careful not to give any indication that she knew it was tracking her. This group was already down a carload of slayers, plus those trapped inside the industrial area, and Sam was tearing through their communications system with embarrassing ease. They had wanted to test the competence of Dawn's organization, and so far, to be charitable, it looked like they needed some serious help. Which was the point of the exercise. Buffy wanted to know more before reaching any firm conclusions, but so far she wasn't impressed. Dawn's people wouldn't survive long if they went up against the First if what she had seen during this chase represented their best efforts. All of the equipment Sam was using would be available to the First, who would quickly destroy her organization if they didn't learn some basic electronic security. She had to admit being surprised, and a bit disappointed. Dawn had always been the smart one. It should have been obvious to her that this level of performance just wouldn't cut it. Still, Buffy had learned the hard way about making assumptions, and saw no point in not completing the test.

Reacting as if she only then noticed the first car, but 'searching' for the others as if she didn't know about the second vehicle coming in from the west, Buffy deliberately kept her eye on the first car as she walked along the roof ledge to the other side of the building. Dropping off it to hang by her fingers until she in the correct position, she let go to drop to a small ledge on the exterior wall below. She then made her way around the building to an alley, where she lowered herself down another floor, jumped over to the building on the other side of the alleyway, then slid down a convenient pipe to the ground below. Keeping one eye on the HUD, she made her way roughly towards where the other slayers were moving, keeping her distance, watching how they deployed, trying to figure out their tactical evolution. It didn't make much sense; they had to know where she was –she could still occasionally hear the helicopter criss-crossing the area, and knew it could see _her_—but they didn't seem to be trying to trap her. It was as if they had decided to let her go, and were simply deploying to ensure that she was blocked if she tried to return.

That wasn't how she'd handle it if she were in their shoes. They still had eight slayers in the vicinity, who should be able to adapt to her tactics once they figured out the basic principles of _parkour_. It wasn't _that_ difficult, and the cool part about being a slayer was how quickly you were able to adapt to changing conditions…

She was already dropping as her HUD suddenly flashed red in the danger signal, her own preternatural senses finally warning her, picking up on a movement which stood out from that of the random motions of people walking along the street, a deliberate gaze, a subtle hand gesture. Her instantaneous response kept her just barely out of range of the hand which had been reaching out to grab her, a quick roll and swift kick taking out the legs from a second girl approaching from her left. Back-flipping and jumping to her feet, she ran into the street, swerving between cars, which had to jam on their brakes to keep from hitting her and the girls chasing her. There were suddenly three of them… then four. And she'd never seen them coming.

Buffy ran full-out, running along the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street, already moving faster than an Olympic sprinter, using the crowd and mail boxes and power poles and anything else she could find to use as interference, twisting and abruptly changing directions constantly, hearing one of her pursuers lose her balance, twist her ankle and cry out with a sudden gasp of pain as she over-balanced and fell. But she couldn't _sense_ them! How in the hell had they been able to mask their 'auras,' been able to make themselves undetectable to slayer senses?! The question would have to wait, as the sudden disruption in their converging pattern due to the fallen girl gave Buffy a momentary opening, which she immediately exploited to leap towards the back of a moving panel truck, arm almost pulled from its socket as she latched onto a precarious handhold at the back of the rapidly moving vehicle.

Ignoring the pain from her shoulder, she leapt up from the back bumper to the top of the van, lying down for balance as it continued to move, quickly out-distancing the pursuing slayers. Unfortunately it was city traffic, and the truck soon hit the brakes as the street got more congested. Going for Plan B, Buffy jumped up, grabbed an overhead post supporting the traffic signal at the next intersection, swung herself up to balance along the beam, walking along it towards the sidewalk end. She jumped from the top of the pole to a decorative balcony on the second floor of the closest building. She could hear the commotion among the people on the street below, and more importantly shouting from the pursuing slayers as they rapidly closed in. They weren't using radios. Or their cells.

Quickly climbing up the trellises fronting the building, Buffy stood on the ledge, noting that Carter had finally marked the approaching slayers on her HUD, her software having missed their approach when they had changed clothing and even hairstyles while driving around the industrial area, and tossed their cells into another car. That was a really neat trick, showing unexpected sophistication, indicating they had realized she was monitoring their communications. But it was nowhere near as potentially useful as being able to conceal themselves from Slayer senses. She really wished she knew how they did that.

They were suddenly acting smarter in other ways as well. Even though she couldn't 'feel' them, the HUD showed that they were expecting her to repeat her earlier tactic of running to the rear of the building to escape. Nearly half the group was already heading to the back, covering the alley exits and accessible rooftops on the other side of the street. To make matters worse, she could hear sirens in the distance, likely because someone had called the cops. Time for Plan C, which was a bit risky, but hey! She'd been a cheerleader, dammit, and figured it was do-able. Buffy was almost embarrassed to realize that she was really enjoying herself. Checking her distances by eye, weighing the relative angles using slayer senses, she was suddenly in motion, leaping from the rooftop, catching the extension of a streetlight like an Olympic-caliber gymnast, flipping down to the roof of a truck momentarily paused in traffic, jumping off immediately to land on the roof of a car below –likely scaring hell out of the driver, and despite her small mass doing a fair bit of damage to the vehicle roof—before dropping down to the ground, already running as the slayers who hadn't gone to the rear of the building tried to cross the street to give chase. Unfortunately for them, Buffy had timed her move perfectly. The light had just turned green and cars were starting to move, the pursuers presence in traffic met with blaring horns and squealing brakes.

Slayers were real good at timing things to the tiniest fraction of a second, and the four girls ignored the commotion they caused as they kept running, missing cars by inches as they followed her across the street, loudly cursing and obviously determined to bring the chase to an end. Buffy knew a thing or two about timing herself, and was careful not to get too far ahead, letting the fastest pursuer almost catch up to her, before suddenly stretching her arm out to catch a sign post, swinging around at full speed, legs lifted, smashing them into the chest of the girl with enough power to knock her off her feet, sending her crashing into another slayer directly behind her. The loss of momentum slowed Buffy down a bit, and reversed her direction to put her on the correct trajectory to head directly towards her real target. Unfortunately that change in direction also allowed the two remaining slayers to cut the angle, barely behind her as Buffy ran up the stairs leading up to a hotel entrance, the interval just enough to let Buffy get through the rotating doors and knock a convenient industrial-sized ashtray into the doorway, blocking it when they tried to follow her.

Running full out, ignoring the shouts from surprised guests and the concierge, she did a quick tumbling routine, leaping over shocked guests and inconveniently-placed furniture, somersaulting the final obstacles in her path to just barely scrape through the closing doors of the nearest elevator. Fortunately the elevator car held only two other passengers, who stared at her in shock as she kissed the tip of her extended middle finger, smiling into the furious eyes of the rapidly approaching slayers, who were only seconds behind her, but just microseconds too late to prevent the doors from closing. Their screams of frustrated rage could be heard even as the elevator began to rise.

Looking over at the elderly –actually, quite ancient-- couple who were nervously cowering in the corner of the elevator, Buffy politely smiled and nodded at them. "Hi! Enjoy your nooner!" She was pleased to note that they had pushed the button for the 16th floor, giving her plenty of time to jump up and slap open the roof hatch, lifting herself up to crawl through it onto the top of the car. The building core had three elevators in a single shaft, each traveling along individual steel guide- and support- columns. Fortunately the pursuing slayers would have to take the more distant car up after her, as the middle one was on its way down. She was surprised at how noisy it was, not to mention how quickly it seemed to be moving given her unusual perspective standing atop the rising car. It was difficult to judge its speed given the darkness within the shaft, but she waited until the other elevator was about a car-length below her before jumping, timing her leap so that she wouldn't smash into one of the cross-beams on the steel support structure between elevator shafts. She aimed for the corner of the other car, away from the dangerous wheels and pulleys of the cabling system at the center of the roof. Having never 'elevator surfed' before she was embarrassed about how euphoric she found the experience and had to struggle not to cry out in excited triumph.

Even without her shouting, the noise of her landing had been pretty loud. Passengers within the car heard the crash as she dropped onto their roof but had no idea what had caused it, only knowing that it didn't sound good. With a display of caution Buffy found irritating despite its reasonableness, someone hit the button for the next floor down, bringing the elevator to a stop at the forth floor, then left the door open while they used the phone to call the hotel desk and report the noise. Quickly abandoning the car, Buffy shimmed up the support column to the next floor above the stalled car, then worked her way over to the small lip which just barely provided a toe-hold in front of the fifth floor elevator-shaft door. The outer doors were latched on the inside to prevent them from being opened from the hallway and allow some idiot to drop down the empty shaft, but there was a quick-release arm on the door so that anyone already within the shaft could get out. After a quick glance over to confirm that the car holding the other slayers was on its way up to the 16th floor, Buffy opened the door and stepped out into the empty hallway on the 5th.

Inconveniently, none of the windows in the hallway opened. The hotel provided small balconies for each guest room, so Buffy figured her best move was to find an empty room, and enter it to use the balcony to make her exit. Despite not hearing anyone inside the first door she cautiously knocked on, someone answered, and she had to politely smile and say "Sorry, I must have the wrong room,." She impatiently waited for that person to leave before trying another door. When nobody answered she applied some slayer strength to the handle and broke the lock. It was done quietly enough that nobody came to investigate, and to her relief the room was unoccupied. Waking a lethargic post-coiatal couple would likely have led to the sort of noise she was hoping to avoid. Her sense of direction hadn't failed her, and the room did face the back of the hotel, overlooking a parkade, rather than the front side of the building with its observing multitudes on the main street below. It was unfortunate but not unexpected that there wasn't a conveniently-placed ladder within reach of the balcony –hotels tried not to put their guests at risk for burglars—so Buffy was forced to climb down the hard way; sliding down the outside of the balcony rails and dropping to the top of the balcony railing below, repeating the movement down five floors until she reached the ground.

A quick check of the HUD showed that the slayers were quickly approaching –apparently the helicopter had seen her descent and reported it—so Buffy began running up the slanted driving surface of the parkade, knowing that if she could get to the top she would be in position to jump to smaller buildings to the east and south. She was fairly certain her pursuers didn't have enough people left to cover both. However the other slayers had anticipated this move and one of the two cars she had thought she had lost was already screeching to a halt the second it reached the parkade. The other was far out of position as it had been sent farther south just in case she had remained on the truck roof when they originally lost her, and Buffy was fairly certain there was no way they could make it back in time. That didn't help her with this group, as two of the slayers leapt from the car and were already giving chase.

She was only on the third level of the four-level parkade, at the same level as the target building roofs instead of being able to jump down from above like she had planned, but there was no way she was going to get by the rapidly-closing slayers. The car with the remaining girls was screeching away to cover the exit if she made the jump to the building to the east, trusting these two to stop her if she tried to go south. Even running full-out they didn't quite have a good enough angle to prevent her from running the length of the almost-empty parkade and jumping over to the building to the south if she tried to do it, but if they followed her they would be only seconds behind once she reached the roof of the other building. All three of them were sprinting, knowing that the gap between the structures was better than thirty five feet, pretty far even for a slayer under those conditions, but from their furious expressions Buffy was pretty certain these two wouldn't hesitate no matter what the danger.

All three of them were running full out, all hoping to use the four-and-a-half foot high wall at the side of the parkade as a springboard to reach the building across the street, none of them looking at each other as they would have to judge their jumps down to precise micro-seconds. The other two slayers, no longer trying to cut her off, managed to move slightly ahead of Buffy in their anger-fueled determination, reaching the edge first, each exerting a super-human effort to make a jump they would never have attempted had they not been so pissed off at the way a simple 'Intercept and Interrogate' deployment had gotten so fubar'ed. There were audible gasps of exertion as they leaped, one foot hitting the ledge to provide additional impetus to make the jump, their grunts of effort turning to raging curses in mid-leap as they suddenly realized the girl they were chasing hadn't made the same insane jump, had hit the ledge with both feet to kill her momentum, not losing her balance as she came to a dead stop on the ledge while the two slayers were attempting to make the long jump to the other building. One made it all the way, falling hard on as she was unable to maintain her balance, the sound of her crashing down onto the pebbled roof almost loud enough to block out the painful gasp as her companion fell slightly short. Only her frantically outstretched arms catching the ledge of the roof prevented her from falling onto the pavement below, shock and the pain of her impact into the side of the building forcing her to rest a moment before slowly crawling her way up onto the rooftop and just lying there, muttering furiously about just how fucked up a normally-routine op had managed to get, before she turned to help her friend.

Ignoring them once they made their jump, Buffy balanced on the ledge, then jumped up to catch the roadbed of the level above, lifting herself up and over the ledge onto the top level of the parkade. A quick run and a far easier jump given the additional height let her reach the roof of the building to the east. She could see on the HUD that the car with the remaining slayers was parked at the base of the structure, but with only two of them left she figured her odds of escaping were pretty good… at least, until she was suddenly shoved from behind, tumbling properly despite the unexpected attack, back to her feet instantly, turning to face a huge, and obviously furious, slayer. She hadn't had the slightest hint that the girl had been there. Nothing about her triggered any of her slayer senses. But it was apparent she had left the car and silently crawled up the side of the building, hidden from view, and she now had Buffy trapped in a corner unless she wanted to take a dive from the three-storey roof.

The drop probably would have been survivable, if not exactly comfortable, but Buffy had a better plan in mind. The other slayer wasn't attacking, probably because she didn't think she had to. She was _huge_. Close to six feet tall and pushing the 180-pound mark, she was pretty much the antithesis of Buffy's tiny blond perkiness. At least partly Native American, her dark hair was straight and unkempt, her body bulked up with the stocky, well-honed muscles of a weight lifter. Black eyes glared at her from under brows furrowed into a forbidding line. She evidently didn't consider Buffy much of a threat, which was convenient since it meant she was willing to talk rather than immediately proceed with pounding the crap out of her. "That was impressive. You should be in the fucking _Cirque du Soleil_ with those moves."

Buffy smiled back prettily. "I signed up with a different circus." She hoped O'Neill overheard the insult and was suitably offended.

"Are you with the First's crew?"

Raising an eyebrow, Buffy tried to look indignant as she flamboyantly pointed the fingers of her right hand to her breast. "_Moi_?! Certainly not! I'm actually in town looking for Dawn Summers."

That statement got her an even more thunderous glare. "_Then why the fuck did you run from us_?! You want to see Dawn, you go through us. Everybody knows that. What the hell was the point of all that acrobatic bullshit?"

"I don't want to _go_ see Dawn; I want Dawn to come see _me_. I'm under a bit of a time limit, unfortunately, so don't really have the time to explain why it needs to be done my way."

"Are you fucking _stupid_?! Do you really think we'd let Dawn come into an uncontrolled environment just because you don't want to be late for a fucking _date_?! Get real. You want to talk to Dawn you do it our way, under our rules. No exceptions."

Shaking her head regretfully, Buffy tried to appear as non-threatening as her stature might suggest she was. "As I said, unfortunately it has to be done _my_ way. Honestly, Dawn will understand why. Just let her know I'm here, and she'll agree to come meet me."

"I'm not telling her jack-shit, kid. The First can't read Dawn. That means we don't risk her, period. I don't fucking care who you think you are, or what fucking reasons you think you have to see her without going through normal security precautions. _It ain't gonna happen_! Deal with it. I ain't exactly giving you a choice either. I've had more than enough of your bullshit. I've got three girls hurt and my teams are spread out over half the goddamn city and vulnerable to any passing patrol from the First's goons. So you are going to stand the fuck down or I am going to beat the living shit out of you. Understand?"

Buffy would have been willing to bet serious money as to who had trained this girl. The mannerisms, the stance, the aggressive attitude, it all positively screamed 'Faith.' It was likely she misinterpreted Buffy's smile as the much-smaller girl raised her hands to chest level, fingers clenched into fists, feet positioned for maximum balance and flexibility. It was unlikely this girl would mistake small size for helplessness, especially if she had trained with Faith, who was only three inches or so taller than Buffy. But strength scaled pretty well with height, so she would probably be pretty confident that she could handle whatever Buffy threw at her. She might even have been right, had she met Buffy a few months earlier. Recent events had given Buffy a whole new attitude towards how hand-to-hand combat was meant to be fought, and Master Bra'tac had done his inhuman best to beat the stupid out of her on those few occasions when she forgot and reverted.

Noting the movement, the larger slayer sighed and raised her own hands, fingers extended and pressed together into a standard martial arts-style blade. "Your funeral, Shorty." Buffy wasn't surprised when the other girl quickly moved in for the kill. Given her size advantage, and Buffy's own position confined to the corner of a roof, it was the obvious move. Even the insult had been calibrated to irritate, and therefore distract her opponent. Against a less experienced fighter, it would probably have been a successful one as well. But Buffy had fought too many times, and was just too familiar with the stratagem to be caught by surprise. Before she even realized the smaller girl had moved Buffy was sweeping out her leg, taking the other girl down with a savage hit to her shins, then tumbling around to get back to her feet before her opponent, their positions reversed as Buffy suddenly had the surprised slayer trapped at the corner of the roof.

Once again she attacked, furious and not feeling overly threatened by someone half her size, and once again Buffy used her legs, correctly anticipating that the bigger girl would try to take her out as fast as she could, using her fists. Buffy never even considered doing likewise. In addition to being more powerful than her arms, Buffy's legs gave her a longer reach, and her foot crashed into the other girl's sternum with enough force to knock her backwards. Not hurt but off-balance, flailing her arms near the edge of the roof, the big girl was concentrating so heavily on not falling off to splat on the pavement far below that she wasn't ready for Buffy's instantaneous follow-up attack. Jumping almost impossibly high, legs thrust forward until she was almost parallel to the ground, Buffy's center of gravity was so far back that as she returned to earth, one leg swinging around the girl's neck and the other around her back under the right arm, she brought the off-balance girl down with her, her hold causing all of the girl's weight to come down on her head.

Dazed by the impact, the larger girl was too stunned to react as Buffy quickly adjusted her position, one knee on the ground, her other leg wrapped around the girls neck in a vice-like grip, both hands locking the girl's free hand in an arm bar. With only one arm free to move, and it trapped beneath her with all of her own and part of Buffy's weight bearing down, it wasn't likely she would have been able to move even if the leg squeezing her neck wasn't cutting off the flow of blood to her brain. Desperately trying to get the other girl off her before she lost consciousness, she tried to roll around, but Buffy had positioned herself to adjust to any such attempt. Her struggles quickly weakened as she lost strength and consciousness. The last words she heard from the smaller girl was "Give my regards to Faith."

Releasing the girl only when she was certain she wasn't faking unconsciousness, Buffy reached into the pocket of her sweatshirt and pulled out an envelope, which she stuffed into the inside pocket of the larger girls vest. She then jammed a tiny bug into the sole of the girls' shoe, just to see if they would find it, and what they would do with it if they did. Her mission completed, Buffy got up and checked the position of the remaining opposition slayers. Only one was close enough to try to stop her, in the car at the base of the small building, although a car with four rested slayers was quickly approaching. Not wanting to take the contest any further now that she had accomplished what she had set out to do, Buffy went to the side of the building away from the parked car, dropped down to a ledge below, then jumped over to a flag pole mounted in concrete about twenty feet away. Deliberately hitting the pole to one side, she grabbed around it with her arm, and basically swung around the pole down to the ground. Once back on terra-firma she jogged off to the west, away from the other slayers, and towards where SG-1 was holed up in an otherwise-abandoned building.

She really wanted to know what the SGC had learned about the capabilities of the Ronin. It was only fair. She was pretty certain the Ronin would be quickly meeting to assess her capabilities as well.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

Return To Normal

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**Chapter Twelve**

**--- **

Faith tried not to smile at the barely-leashed fury in her protégé's expression. China was so big, and so strong, that she had grown accustomed to winning. Faith wasn't overly concerned about her losing once in awhile, especially given that nobody had died this time. In the long run it might even do her some good. Getting your ass handed to you so spectacularly did wonders to deflate the ego of people starting to grow just a tad arrogant. It would take someone particularly deluded to maintain their own sense of superiority when they lost a Runner, despite having _twelve_ slayers on the capture team. Nobody had _ever_ escaped from a 12-slayer team. Faith herself was one of only a couple who had escaped when going up against eight. Hell, most newbie slayers weren't going to be able to beat even a _four _girl capture team! And if outrunning twelve slayers wasn't bad enough; getting the shit kicked out of you by an apparently fairly young slayer half your size in under a minute was a real boot to the metaphorical nadz. So China had to be feeling pretty deflated about now. Faith didn't bother to tell her that she figured whoever they were chasing turned out to be, she weren't no newbie. She was too smart, and too crazy, and too fuckin' _good_ to be a newb.

And she had told China: "_Give my regards to Faith_."

Casually sipping her Coke, Faith kept her eyes constantly in motion, surveying the area. She wasn't comfortable about this, but Xander had insisted. Faith had read the note the Runner had left with China, but didn't know why Xander had gone pale, his shock obvious the moment he saw it. He refused to explain. For an hour he had used his laptop to encode a message to Dawn, who was still in LA, working with Lorne to recruit any local slayers who wanted to help them in their fight against the First.

Snorting a bit in disgust, Faith couldn't even pretend to herself that they were actually 'fighting' the First. 'Staying out of the First's way' was about the extent of it. But Dawn insisted that she had sources who would provide tools and weapons which would let them take the fight to the First _eventually_, so they needed an organization in place for when the help arrived. They'd been building that organization for over a year now. Faith trusted Dawn, because she'd produced the goods too often not to trust her, but she was getting pretty impatient for her 'sources' to get off their asses.

It had crossed her mind that this might even be the mysterious 'source,' but Xander wasn't saying, and Faith had been burned too many other times to get her hopes up. Too many times she'd set up meetings with mysterious agents who usually provided valuable intelligence, but nothing material, nothing useful for actually hurting the Bitch. That was Faith's preferred title for their opponent. 'The First' gave the Bitch too much gravitas, and she categorically refused to follow Andrew's suggestion of calling her 'Darth Buffy,' even though even she knew she was fighting on the losing side of that argument. Most of the younger slayers already used it, to her unconcealed annoyance. So instead of getting her hopes up, Faith was just using it as an object lesson for her arrogant protégé, a hard lesson she herself had learned the hard way on her apartment balcony more years ago than she cared to admit: there was always someone better out there.

And that losing sucked.

The unknown slayer had been good. More than good; friggin' _unbelievably_ good. Younger than Faith, of course -since all but one slayer was younger than her- she had nonetheless had the balls to think she could take on twelve opponents, and the skill to back it up. But she hadn't acted like a normal Runner, who just wanted to escape. This one had wanted to _test_ her opposition, see what they were capable of. And she hadn't been operating alone. The nerds Andrew had recruited for the Field Intelligence team had found datalinks going to- and from- the Runner, using encryption algorithms they could barely identify, they were frequency-hopping so wildly. They had no hope of hacking that signal. They were good enough to track some of the traffic in hopes of locating the source, but had been stopped by firewalls harder than any they'd ever encountered.

Faith might refer to the group as 'Fucking Idiots,' but truth be told, FI was pretty damned good. They had to be, when the Bitch was using the friggin' NSA to check up on them. They'd found the bug the Runner had put on China, and neutralized the chemical tags on the letter, recreating them on a decoy and laying a false trail just to see if anyone followed it. At first glance the Ronin's security might look like a joke, but underneath there was some serious analysis going on to discover who was interested in them and why. Whoever was backing this Runner, they had better tech than the NSA. And wasn't _that_ an interesting tidbit?

Glancing over at Xander, she couldn't help but notice that he was nervous, but not frightened. Excited, but appearing as if he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. For the past few months he'd been happier than a pig in shit, and no wonder. His relationship with Dawn seemed to be going along just fine. Even Faith approved. She remembered taking a test ride with Xander many moons ago, and figured Dawn could have done a lot worse. They were two 'mundanes' in an organization filled with supernaturally powerful girls, but they were also the only people their opponent couldn't read. For probably the first time in his life it was _Xander_ who had a special power, and everyone had to trust him to use it right. So what did Xander of all people have to be nervous about?

Faith had never lost her frustration with the way all of her slayers had to be sent out on missions they didn't understand, attacking objectives they didn't recognize, for purposes they couldn't fathom. Dawn knew those answers, and once it was too late for the First to do anything about it she would explain the purpose of a job they had done weeks or months earlier to slayers who by then had already moved on, having learned to trust Dawn's judgment. It was nice knowing _why_ they did things, but it sucked not to be able to know while they were actually doing it. All of the pressure was on Dawn, so anything that made things easier for Dawn was all to the good as far as Faith was concerned. Xander made her happy. For that reason alone there wasn't a slayer in their organization who wouldn't kill or die to protect Xander… and that was only one of the reasons they all felt that way. Having better than a hundred slayers watching your back tended to make people feel pretty secure; but Xander was sweating bullets over this meeting. A meeting with a slayer better than any she had ever seen, who was backed up by a team using better tech than anything anyone else had. Faith wondered, and waited, and watched.

The man approaching them screamed 'military.' Just the way he walked, the set of his eyes, the way he carried himself. He was an old dude, hair long since turned grey, but Faith quickly decided that she wouldn't kick grandpa out of bed. He hadn't let himself go, and looked like he could take care of himself both in the sack and out of it. The chick with him tried to project the same attitude, but it wasn't a comfortable fit. Grandpa was military to the core, probably pissed 'red-white-and-blue,' but the woman was too inquisitive, didn't have the same 'kill first; questions later' vibe that her companion gave off. Idly wondering if the two of them were doing it –and fully intending to find out by psyching the fuck out of them by offering to join in if they were—Faith made a deliberate effort to hide the fact that she recognized them both.

The Ronin didn't actually 'use' cell phones, well aware that they could be traced by their opponents. They had an arrangement with Nokia where every cell phone in the world had a peer-to-peer packet switching algorithm programmed in. The fact that the circuit was present wasn't a secret –it permitted the cell phones themselves to act as repeaters for low-power signals should the cell towers go down during an emergency—but the fact that the Ronin had the keys _was_ very much a secret. They used text messages to communicate, and the cell phone voice traffic was just random noise, designed to see if anyone was intercepting them, and using it to track them down. It made initial contacts more difficult, but the information they uncovered was invaluable over the longer term. Plus, they were always in a position to shut it down, if their opponents turned out to be too dangerous to mess with. The two people approaching them had used that signal the day before, casually looking over the bogus 'headquarters' the Ronin had set up to trap anyone good enough to follow their fake trail.

They hadn't done anything except look the place over from a distance, but even that was pretty damned telling. They weren't the Law, or the First's stooges; but they were good enough to hunt down the Ronin, which was no easy task. Only they didn't seem interested in trying to trap them even when it looked like they had traced them to their lair. Anyone who could do all that were people Faith seriously wanted to get to know. Something in his eyes made it pretty clear the dude was in command, so Faith ignored the side-kick and kept her eyes on the old guy. She noticed he returned the favor, instinctively knowing who was the most dangerous person at the table, despite outward appearances.

"Faith Lehane?"

He didn't know, but she scowled at him anyway. "Just 'Faith,' old man."

Meeting her eyes, he saw something she didn't know she was showing, and nodded. "Good enough. Faith, I'm Jack. This is Sam. We're looking for someone a bit taller, a bit younger, got all of her appendages, goes by the name of Dawn?"

Her fake arm was hidden, so either he knew exactly what had happened to her, or saw the way she was balanced and knew what it meant. Faith hoped it was the former, but suspected it was the latter. "She's out of town. The Xan-Man speaks for her."

Following the gesture she made with her head, the old guy checked out Xander with eyes that saw a whole lot more than Xander was comfortable showing. He didn't say anything, but eventually nodded, reaching into his backpack and pulling out what appeared to be a portable CD player. "I know you probably don't need it, but put it on anyway." His companion brought out two identical devices and gave them to Faith and China, who both simply stared at them doubtfully. It had been a long time since Faith had been dumb enough to accept presents from complete strangers. To her surprise, Xander was nodding at them both. "Put it on, girls. I'll explain why once it's on."

There was a strap mechanism to ensure that the device remained in place no matter how much bending or twisting the wearer was doing, comfortably placed at her lower back. There was an On/Off button, but the woman –Sam—said it was only needed when they actually wanted to play CDs. The real function of the device was permanently set to the 'On' position. It would make an audible tone every week or so when the included lithium-ion battery needed recharging. If they were caught somewhere without a convenient outlet, they should stick real close to someone who had a working unit. The field extended about ten feet in any direction so could be shared.

"What 'field'?" Even with Xander's okay, Faith felt uncomfortable wearing unknown electronic equipment. It could be tracked, or booby-trapped, or otherwise make her already-too-vulnerable ass even _more_ vulnerable.

The military chick shrugged, frowning, and from her expression Faith figured she was pretty pissed about not being able to answer that question. "We don't know. We can't measure it with any instrument in our possession. All we know is that it _does_ work. Anything within about ten feet of this device goes 'off-grid' so far as telepaths are concerned. So long as you're wearing this, the First can't read you. Can't see you. Doesn't even know you're there."

Smiling a bit smugly at the expression of shock on the younger girls face, Carter was tempted to explain further until she noticed the look Jack was giving her. Right. No need for extraneous details.

"_No fuckin' way_!!" From her reaction, Sam concluded that Jack was correct. Explaining any further to this girl would be about as useful as it had been when she tried to explain it to Buffy. The device _worked_; that was all they needed to know. And from her reverent expression as she examined it, Sam concluded that Faith understood the implications just fine even without possessing the technical details.

After a few seconds of staring at the 'cd-player,' salivating at the freedom it represented, Faith looked up, noticed Xander's sickly looking expression, and turned to face the two army-types. "I very much appreciate the doo-hickey. Thanks muchly. So you're Dawn's secret contact?"

The old dude shook his head, then gestured over to their left, where someone was approaching. "Not us. That would her now. We didn't want her to show up until the devices were deployed so the First couldn't see your reaction." Both Faith and China tensed as the newcomer approached, recognizing the gait, the cocky attitude, knowing it was the Runner they had lost the day before, although she'd changed clothes, and her hair was no longer fluorescent orange. Faith felt herself start to shake, unable to believe what she was beginning to suspect, recognizing the gait, the posture, and barely noticed Xander standing up as the girl approached. When she came close enough for Faith to see her face, she couldn't hold back a whimper. Didn't notice China's terror-stricken expression, the way she gave a remarkable impression of fish-eyed Admiral Akbar about to yell '_It's a trap_!!' or notice the way Jack stopped China from doing something stupid by pulling his gun and jamming it deeply into her stomach. All she noticed was the face of the girl, the way her lips smiled, the faux glare in her green eyes as she spoke to Xander.

"If you've knocked up my sister, you're a dead man."

Apparently he was expecting her, because Xander just held out his arms and Buffy walked up to him, returning the embrace, tears visible on both their faces. He reached up to pull down the hoodie covering her hair, gently cupping her face in his hands, thumbs caressing her cheeks. "Dawn told me you were alive, but I never really believed her. I kept seeing your face on television, kept thinking she was just imagining the night when you came back, that it was just a dream. Three times now, Buffy. You can't keep doing this to me."

They hugged each other for long minutes, ignoring Faith's dazed expression, ignoring the silent struggle going on between Jack and China as he silently gestured for her to sit back and relax, not to do anything stupid until she discovered what was really going on. She was almost paralyzed with fear, yet paradoxically keyed up to the point of unleashing explosive violence. _The newcomer was Buffy_ fucking _Summers_! The same Buffy Summers they had been telling everyone was actually the First Evil, a monster who would kill them all deader'n hell. Granted, she didn't really _look_ like the Buffy Summers she saw on TV. She was younger, blonder, even thinner. But mostly she didn't have that creepy look in her eye. When she looked at Xander, her expression was pretty much the same as that of most people who looked at Xander; protective adoration.

Which also pretty much summed up Faith's expression when she noticed the way her mentor was looking at this younger version of Buffy Summers. Which caused China to experience yet another '_WTF_?!' moment. _Nobody_ hated the First more than Faith! Whenever 'Darth Buffy' appeared on TV, the enraged hate in Faith's eyes was almost palpable. But she wasn't looking at _this_ girl that way. Not at _all_! And a minute or so later, when she finally released Xander and looked over at Faith, only then did the new girl notice her missing arm, judging by the way her expressive eyes widened and her mouth dropped open in horror. "Oh my god! Faith! What happened?!"

To China, what happened next was the most shocking in an incredible series of stunning events. The younger version of Buffy Summers moved over to Faith, pulled her into her arms, and hugged her tightly, completely ignoring how vulnerable she left herself by doing so. And, instead of breaking her spine, the way Faith did when anyone else tried to offer her the slightest gesture of sympathy, after a short pause Faith _returned the embrace_ with her good arm, her normally glaringly angry brown eyes wide with shock, gradually closing as she appeared to bask in the tight embrace. Faith did not '_bask_!' Faith did not '_hug_!' China turned shocked eyes on the older soldier guy, who met her expression and shrugged, obviously a bit surprised himself, but apparently unaware that they were seeing something impossible. She also noticed he was no longer holding a gun on her, apparently concluding that she had decided to wait and assess the situation before reacting. In that, he was correct. Wild horses couldn't have dragged her away from what she was witnessing.

Finally Buffy released Faith, only enough to move back just a bit, one hand gently stroking down the sleeve concealing her prosthetic arm. She looked down at the artificial hand before raising her eyes to meet those of her friend, --and it was now obvious they truly were _friends_-- and repeated the question, her voice choked. "What happened?"

It took a few seconds for Faith to gain control of her voice, her mouth trembling just a bit, keeping the answer short because she was afraid her voice would crack. "Kennedy."

It was just a flash, but China froze immediately, noting in passing that the old guy saw the same thing, and reacted the same way. Until that moment she hadn't been able to believe that someone half her size had beaten her so easily. Even the revelation that it was the reincarnation of _Buffy Summers herself_ who had done it didn't answer how it could have happened. But that momentary look explained _everything_. For a fraction of a second, the lethal rage in the small girls' eyes was enough to make the reptilian part of her brain freeze in terror. China liked to tell herself that she wasn't afraid of Kennedy, that she'd had plenty of other reasons for deciding she didn't want anything to do with Slayers Inc. But the truth was, Kennedy creeped her the fuck out. Kennedy frightened a lot of people, and for good reason. This was the first time she'd ever seen another person she thought Kennedy should be frightened of in return.

When Buffy spoke, China's thought was confirmed. "She doesn't walk away from this. I promise you." Her voice was gentle, almost casual, and a quick glance around determined that nobody but her and the old guy realized the soft words were a deadly promise. Amazingly, not even Faith seemed to realize it. _Nobody_ was allowed to fight Faith's battles, especially since her injury. One arm or not, she fully intended to handle Kennedy all by herself. So China was once again shocked when Faith simply nodded, a slightly tremulous smile showing the closest China had ever seen Faith approach gratitude. All she could think were that there were deep, _deep_ undercurrents to their relationship, ones she had never imagined. _Everyone_ had heard the story about how they'd hated each other, how they'd had a terrible fight and Buffy had put Faith in a coma, that Faith had first tried to help at the final battle in Sunnydale but had 'betrayed' Buffy yet again by trying to lead a mutiny among the Potentials. If this really was the legendary Buffy Summers, once again back from the dead, she sure as hell wasn't looking at Faith like someone she thought had _betrayed_ her. For just a second, she had looked ready to tear the head off of whoever had hurt the one person she was supposed to have hated above all others. And Faith hadn't called her on it.

They sat down, and two more people arrived. One was a tough-looking, bald black guy, the other an obvious geek, but a seriously drool-worthy one. Buffy introduced them as 'Forrest' and 'Daniel.' She turned to Xander and explained that Forrest would be remaining on their world, after the rest of them returned to the alternate dimension they had come from. "I'm not sure if you remember Forrest, Xan, but he worked for Riley at the Initiative. He died there on this world. For reasons I don't want to get into, nobody from where I live now can remain on this world more than a day or two if their counterpart is still alive here. Since we know his counterpart _isn't_, Forrest gets to remain and act as our liaison with your group. He won't be joining you because we need him to get us a ton of other information as well, but we'll be giving you instructions on how to contact him."

Xander nodded, and they got into a discussion of communications protocols. China watched as the military chick got involved in the discussion, bringing out a stack of memory chips she stated were filled with encryption algorithms, one-time encoding sequences, and documentation on security processes. There was also a map to an isolated hut where hundreds more of the 'First-proof' cd-players were stored, along with plans for building more, as well as weapons and assorted high-tech devices. This was serious shit, and China sat silently while the others went over all the details. She was surprised that the young Buffy was in charge in the discussions, and everyone seemed to give serious weight to her opinions. From what China had heard of Buffy Summers, she had been a kick-ass slayer, but not exactly a towering genius. Evidently she had either grown enough to handle the status she now held, or the others were indulging her. From their expressions, she didn't think the latter was the case.

She could tell that Xander and Faith were impressed as well. Faith had never been 'strategy girl.' When Dawn gave her clear instructions Faith was awesome about ensuring those orders got done, no matter how difficult the assignment. China figured she had already surpassed her mentor in the strategy arena; but she didn't delude herself into thinking she came anywhere close to matching Faith when it came to tactics. Faith had always claimed that nobody could hold a candle to Buffy when it came to handling the situation when the shit really hit the fan. Evidently, Buffy had been taking some graduate-level courses in strategy as well. Giving the older soldier an assessing glance, China wasn't surprised that he felt the attention and returned her look. She had her own suspicions as to who had really originated the strategy… or at least, who had provided a guiding hand to ensure that it was done right. But having their long-lost friend set it out made it a whole lot easier to sell to Faith and Xander, who would in turn sell it to Dawn. Not having such an intense emotional connection to Buffy, China was comforted by the knowledge that in addition to sounding good, the strategy they would probably be committing themselves to had been developed by more than just the person who got thoroughly out-Generaled by the First the last time they had gone at it.

It also helped that they weren't suggesting the Ronin do anything they hadn't already decided to do themselves. There were some timing points they were pushing, targets Buffy claimed were backed by her Slayer Dreams. Even China nodded in agreement at those, since she herself had experienced an almost identical dream about one of the situations Buffy described. Even if they were out to betray them –China didn't believe that, but it never hurt to be paranoid—nothing they were asking would commit themselves to a situation they couldn't bail themselves out of before they got slaughtered. All in all, as potential allies went, China didn't think they would find much better than this group. For the first time in years, she started to feel hopeful about the future. Not optimistic –she wasn't _that_ deluded—but hopeful.

Business concluded, people started to relax, ordering drinks from the waiters who had left them alone while they were obviously distracted. Everyone kept an eye out for the cops, studying every random passer-by as if they might be Kennedy in disguise, but by their standards were as casual as things got. Most of the conversation was held by Xander and Buffy, with frequent commentary by Faith, and the occasional interjection by the geek, who seemed pretty interested in what he called 'Slayer Culture.' Things really took off when Xander mentioned that since not long after she had recovered following the debacle with Kennedy, Spike had been shacking up with Faith. It was only then that they realized Buffy hadn't known Spike had survived his immolation under Sunnydale.

"_Spike's alive_?!?!" Her shout was loud enough to attract the attention of the other customers on the patio of the park-side bar, and she sat back down under the combined glare of everyone else. An explanation of his return to Wolfram & Hart to participate in Angel's take-down of the Senior Partners didn't help her mood. Just like that, her sympathetic attitude towards Faith disappeared, and she glared at the one-armed girl. "What is it with you and my ex's? Is there _anyone_ I've been involved with who you haven't screwed?!"

Faith met her glare for glare, to China's relief. Wussy weepy Faith creeped her out. Give her snarky-smarmy-bitchy Faith any day. "Don't flatter yourself, Blondie. It's just that after you're done with them, they need a _real_ woman to thaw out their frozen dicks."

"Bite me!" When Faith opened and closed her mouth in a biting motion, Buffy rolled back her eyes in exasperation.

The conflict was apparently an old one, because Faith met her angry eyes with a sneer, and apparently jumped right to the root of the conflict. "Get it through your pea-brain, B; I did _not_ sleep with Angel! I _never_ slept with Angel. Well, yeah; I _wanted_ to. I sure as hell _offered_ to! But I never actually _did_."

Oblivious to the interested audience watching them, Buffy tried to maintain her scowl, but to the others it began to look a bit pouty. "He chose you when I went to LA."

After an elaborate, exasperated sigh, Faith returned the smaller girl's scowl with a far more impressive one. "You were being a psycho-bitch! I had just confessed to _murder_ and you somehow managed to make yourself look like a bigger asshole than I was. Thank you for that, by the way. In case you didn't get the fuckin' email, Angel was all about _redemption_. He had done shit that made me look like a girl scout. He knew what I was going through. We can't all be fucking _perfect_. I don't know how he put up with Saint Buffy for as long as he did."

The smaller girl was indignant. "Where the hell did you get this 'Saint Buffy' crap?! I slept with _Spike_! If you're involved with Spike you know damned well he'd never sleep with a saint. He might _kill_ one, but he'd never sleep with one." It was obvious that Buffy was embarrassed about having the argument in front of non-Scoobies, but she was privately stunned by Faith's insistence that she had never gotten all groin-y with Angel. She didn't think Faith would lie about it; there was no reason to. She had just assumed…and was embarrassed to realize that her long-standing grudge was all in her head. "Well, so you haven't jumped one of my ex'es. Two, if you count Parker. Even _you_ have higher standards than that…" She was trying to apologize the way she always did with Faith --by _not_ apologizing-- but her face dropped when she noticed Faith's guilty expression. "You have _got _to be kidding me?! You did _Parker Abrams_?! Are you _insane_!?!"

Her expression partly embarrassed, but mostly offended, Faith ignored their fascinated audience. "You were just gonna let him get away with pulling that shit! Any supernatural dirtbag fucks with you like that and you'd've ripped their balls off! A normal dude does it and you just walk away, all hang-dog and cryin.' You've always been that way, B. You never did anything about your dad either, did you? Well, fuck that. I guarantee you, he will _not_ pull that shit on anyone else. I can be _real_ fuckin' scary when I put my mind to it. And with that little prick I _really_ put my mind to it! Little bastard is probably so afraid of women now he's bending over for queers in a San Francisco park after I got done with him." In fact, she had just finished dealing with the pathetic bastard when she'd come across B on the university grounds, and she'd been jazzed up for the quick fight they'd had immediately afterwards.

Not even noticing the way the men at the table winced, unconsciously moving their arms and thighs to protect their metaphorically vulnerable groins, and silently promised themselves to never, _ever_ piss off Faith, Buffy just stared at her friend, her earlier anger and jealousy gone as quickly as it had arrived. "Oh. Uhm…when did you do this?!"

"After I woke up from the coma, and asked around to find out what you were doing. The frat boys were more than happy to talk about it. Abrams was 'King Stud,' and they were just having a grand ole time laughing about it."

"Uh.. weren't you trying to _kill_ me about then?"

Faith looked indignant. "Well, yeah. But that was _me_! That didn't mean I was going to let someone _else_ get away with messing with you."

Buffy didn't quite know what to say. From Faith that actually made a kind of sense. "Uh… _thanks_? You… uh… you're probably a good match for Spike. He… uh… needs a strong hand to keep him in line."

"No shit." Faith was still pissed, and not willing to let it go that easy. As was usually the case with her and Buffy. "But, since you're all het up on me boinking all your ex's, who have you been doing since not dying? I'd hate to miss out on one. How about the old dude?" She turned a very lascivious smile on O'Neill, complete with slumberous eyes and licking her full lips. It would have looked pretty hot had O'Neill held the slightest interest in being a notch on someone's scorecard. "I know you like 'em well-aged, and grandpa looks like he's learned a few tricks. How about it, old man?"

Knowing that whatever was going on had nothing to do with him, Jack simply smiled, remained silent, and reached for his glass of water. Buffy waited until the time was right before answering for him. "Leave him alone, Faith. I am _not_ sleeping with Jack. I'll have you know that he is involved in a deeply committed long-term relationship… with Dr. Jackson." The spurt of water ejected through O'Neill's nose was worth the price of his inevitable revenge. Buffy made a 'two points' gesture, ignoring his enraged glare, but a grinning Sam gave her three fingers in return, one for making the 'foul' shot.

Not distracted by the by-play, Faith returned to the original question, not knowing why she was pushing it, not wanting to admit why she cared so much, knowing she was torturing herself by asking a question she did _not_ want to know the answer to, but asking anyway. Because that's the way it always was between her and Buffy. "Okay, not him. So who _are_ you doing?"

Not pausing to consider her words, Buffy met her glare, and snarled back in response. "Actually, I've been 'doing' _you_!" Dead silence reigned. Buffy felt her face flush with embarrassment, not realizing in the heat of the moment that she was not having a private argument, but was being overheard by far too many interested observers. Even the shock on Faith's expression wasn't worth the sudden chagrin of realizing what she had just admitted in front of witnesses. "Uh… I got into this huge fight. Damned thing ripped my stomach open. Naturally it made me think of you." Glancing over at some of the interested observers, she muttered "Long story…"

Faith interrupted, surprised that her voice worked, since her mind was paralyzed. "I did something stupid. We fought over it. She took my own goddamn knife and gutted me like a fish. Put me in a coma for months."

Scowling at her, Buffy acknowledged: "That's the _short_ version. Whatever. I went to see your counterpart; things happened. Gimme a break! I've _died_ three times now; what did I have to lose? This thing between us… hell, I dunno. I just wondered, is all."

Stunned, and not giving a damn about anyone who might be watching or what they might think, Faith struggled to keep herself from leaping at the small blonde girl. Not knowing what she would do if she did attack her. Not knowing what she was feeling. Or knowing, and not wanting to admit it, even to herself. _Especially_ to herself. "So… how was it?" Noticing the way everyone was staring at her, Faith scowled back at them. "Like you weren't wondering the same thing!"

Buffy glared at her, sputtering indignantly. "It was _awesome_. Incredible. Post-mission H&H's times about a billion. What kind of a stupid question is that?" Given the state of her emotions, the fury in her expression, it looked like she was preparing to attack the larger, one-armed girl.

Despite knowing better, but too pissed off by Buffy's crack to resist, O'Neill couldn't prevent himself from opening his mouth. "What is it with you slayers? Violence is like foreplay to you."

Immediately, both girls turned on him, Faith a fraction of a second ahead because Buffy was still tying to think of an adequate insult. "And it isn't for _you_, soldier boy? Don't try to tell _me_ that after you get back from a dangerous mission the first thing you want to do isn't to bend your studly Man-Bitch there over the table, pull down his shorts, and lay some serious pipe to the beat of 'America The Beautiful.'"

Everyone paused to observe the colonel, waiting to see if wisps of steam really _could_ come from human ears, as his face turned a brilliant red. For a few seconds his mouth trembled uncontrollably, trying to come up with a suitably eviscerating comeback, before he noticed the unconcealed amusement on Carter and Jackson's faces. "You're a dead woman, Summers. You are _soooo_ dead."

She just blew him a kiss, smiling, her amusement at him being verbally humiliated overcoming her previous embarrassment. The interlude gave Buffy a chance to recover. She wasn't ashamed of what had happened, and had been fairly certain it would come out eventually anyway. Sharing a grin with Faith, she returned to catching up on gossip. "So what does Angel think of you shacking up with Spike?" The abrupt silence and sudden pain clearly visible in Faith's expression told her what she didn't want to know. "Oh, god. Please don't tell me… not _Angel_?!?"

When Faith nodded, eyes lowered in pain, Buffy turned horrified eyes towards Xander, whose expression was full of sympathy as he nodded to confirm the terrible news. "Are you _sure_?!"

Reaching over with her remaining hand to squeeze Buffy's in sympathy, Faith confirmed it. She told of the reason Angel had agreed to take over Wolfram & Hart, and his final battle against the Senior Partners. These were the 'evil' equivalent of the Powers That Be. Some of what they knew they got from watching the news –the event had been so monumental there was no way to cover it up—plus what Spike and Illyria could add. Angel had been fighting a dragon –no shit, a fucking _dragon_! With an _axe_!!—on live television, when they were both caught in a massive explosion after the National Guard used a guided missile to take them out. Even Illyria, tough as she was, had been knocked out. When she recovered a few seconds later she found Gunn's body, and Spike had been a shattered wreck, but there was no sign of Angel.

Slow-motion replays of the broadcast images showed him being immolated in the explosion. For a time they hoped he had somehow made it, the way Spike had returned despite being consumed by fire within the Hellmouth. But Spike had been holding the amulet, which had been created by the Senior Partners. Angel had only an ordinary axe, which he had been using to chop the dragon to pieces. Friends and enemies alike had searched for him, to no avail. There had been no last-second portal or mystical teleportation. The First had considered Angel such a potentially dangerous opponent that it had devoted huge resources to determining if he had survived… without success.

When she saw Buffy perk up at that, Faith addressed it before she could even make the suggestion. "I know, the First couldn't find _you_ either. But _you_ are human. There are a billion alternate universes where you can survive. Angel died a _loooong_ time ago in those universes. From what the shamans tell me, there ain't many places vampires can exist. We searched them all. Even Pylea, before all the portals going there shut down. No Angel.

"I looked _real_ hard, B. I know he was your boyfriend, but he was my _friend_! I don't have very many of them. He was the only one who understood me, who knew what I was and stood by me despite everything I'd done. Don't give me that look, B. You didn't have a clue what it was like to be me. To be like _us_. You were a fucking _hero_! You don't know what it's like to be _bad_. You have no idea what it's like to look in a mirror and see someone who fucked up everything you touched, and know that no matter what you do to try to make up for it, nothing you do can make it right. _Angel _knew. He understood what it was like to be me. He had my back, and it just burns my ass that he didn't call me up to cover his when all this went down. So if you think he made it, _pleeeease_ tell me. Because I saw him fucking _burn up_, live and in color, and I'd _reeeeeeally_ like to kick… his… ass! _Fuck_." She stopped talking, unable to speak through the tears.

Clasping Faith's hand, Buffy closed her eyes, trying to contain her emotions. So many of her friends were gone. Intellectually, she had known that Bad Things might have happened while she was away. But facing the reality of the loss of so many of the people she had known, those she had grown up with and trusted, was devastating. Angel was supposed to be immortal. _She_ was the one who was supposed to die young. Everyone was supposed to have to deal with _her_ death, not the other way around. Because she hadn't prepared herself, it hit home twice as hard. Only the loss of her mother had hurt more than the losing Angel. She was too old and cynical now to buy into the 'soul mate' crap beloved by sixteen year olds experiencing the hormonal overdose that was First Love, but even so, Angel owned a big piece of her heart. Losing him was like losing that piece, leaving her heart smaller, harder, more vulnerable and less tolerant of risking itself. Sitting there silently, crushing Faith's hand with a grip so strong that it would have broken her fingers had she not been a slayer herself, Buffy could feel her emotions close down, isolating herself from the harsh realities of the world, the way it had when she'd known that Glory would kill Dawn.

She didn't cry. It was one shock too many, and pushed her over a border she had seen approaching for some time. The idea of giving into the Slayer, the freedom of not having to care for people because her job was _killing_ things, not coddling civilians, and not having to concern herself with extraneous 'friends,' was becoming ever more tempting. Already she had noted that she didn't seek out new friends, but had cocooned herself around a core-group of people so inextricably entwined to her emotions that she simply could not keep them out. But aside from them, there seemed to be no room in her heart for _new_ friends. In her youth she had been so outgoing, popular and gregarious, surrounded by friends and easily able to make new ones, but she was becoming ever more emotionally isolated. Sam Carter was one of the most fascinating women on earth, yet Buffy had never visited her socially. Daniel Jackson was a _specialist_ in understanding difficult people and cultures, but Buffy never gave him a chance to just _talk_ to her. She respected O'Neill, and had a friendly rivalry going on with him, but Jack lived within his own emotional cocoon and was just as happy to maintain their surface friendliness without letting her in among his intimates if that was what she wanted.

The loss of Angel reinforced in steel what had been occurring to her ever since her rebirth. Increasing emotional isolation, cynicism, and fanatical focus on her enemy were squeezing out the very qualities which had gained her such incredibly loyal friends in the first place. Buffy knew that the people of SG-1 respected her, and even liked her in the casual manner one 'liked' the people one worked with whom you didn't actively despise. But they weren't _friends_. Weren't likely to become friends. Knowing it was her fault, Buffy could feel herself becoming the sort of person they had no reason to become friendly with. Like she had always feared, she was becoming the kind of Slayer the Council had always wanted; focused, ruthless, and emotionally barren.

No longer Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. Just… the _Slayer_. Nothing else. If anything ever happened to Dawn, she would disappear like Marcy the Ghost, and become as hollow inside as Illyria.

With that thought in mind she opened her eyes, meeting those of Faith, who was looking at her without the cover of her usual emotional defenses. The pain and sympathy in her expression were hard to take. Buffy wanted to yell at her, to scream that Faith could not understand her pain, that Faith had caused her final breakup with Angel, that everything was Faith's fault… until she suddenly realized that they had traded places, with Buffy turning the way she remembered Faith, a façade of emotional armor concealing a deeply-hidden core of fear and vulnerability. Someone pretending to be tough and strong because she was confused and scared and felt she was in way over her head but didn't have a clue about how to fix things. No, her emotions weren't shutting down. She was just trying to bury them, the way she had when Glory captured Dawn. It would be just as futile this time. Both she and Faith had learned that lesson the hard way. She couldn't hide from this.

Now wasn't the time to think about all the words she would never be able to say to Angel. Now wasn't the time to think about the future, and how barren it would be without him. Even though they hadn't been together, it had always been at the back of her mind that if she needed to, she could go to him, talk to him, discuss the unfinished business between them. Now that was no longer possible. The whole 'cookie dough' spiel would remain forever unanswered. Just as it was no longer possible to see what Cordie had been like as a decent adult, or discover if Anya would become a billionaire after getting out of the vengeance business. Death was just so… _final_. To everyone else but her. Only she would remain, haunted by the memory of what had been, and how much remained forever unsaid.

Except, she reminded herself, _Dawn_ wasn't dead. Faith and Xander and especially _Giles_ were still alive. Her anger over his actions now seemed so petty when examined against the possibility of never being able to talk to him again due to the finality of death. There was so much she had wanted to say to Angel. She didn't want it to be like that with Giles. There were things she needed to say to him… but she suddenly remembered they could not be said. He, more than anyone, would be monitored by the First. Unlike Dawn his mind was an open book. Giving him one of the anti-psionic devices in order to conceal his thoughts would provide the First with too many hints of plans to come. The thought of Giles dying before she could tell him she forgave him was intolerable. She had dreams of the groveling she expected from him. The thought of never seeing it played out in all his pretentious British majesty was intolerable. But the job –the hideous, never-sufficiently-damned _job_—came first. She couldn't take the chance. But she knew that if Giles died before she could explain her decisions to him, she was finished. Angel was already too much. Giles would be the end of her.

Squeezing Faith's hand once again, both of them using slayer strength but without making the slightest contest out of it, both seeking only comfort, Buffy finally nodded to her friend as she managed to regain her composure. The Job came first. But now she finally understood why she hadn't even tried to make any new friends. Losing the ones she had was killing her. "Okay. Just…give me some time. I'll deal with this… when I can. But in the meantime the First isn't going away. We're going to need a lot of information so we can research it from our end. Sam is really, _really_ smart. To stop the First she will need as much data as you can get us about how it intends to open the portal it will need. Xander, you'll remember Glory's portal. The First will need something similar, but will need to do it artificially. Magic won't work for this. Anything you can get on how it might do it, give it to Forrest and he'll get it to Sam.

"I've also got something here for Dawn. I was kinda hoping she'd be here so we could go over it. I know you've got a ton of slayers, and a lot of them will be having their own dreams, so you may already have all this, but I've written down what I've dreamed about as well as what I think they mean. Plus a few assorted thoughts and suggestions." Reaching into her pocket, she handed Xander a thick envelope. "Give this to Dawn. She can use it or not. It's up to her."

Frowning, Xander removed the sheets from the unsealed envelope and looked at them. Leaning over, Faith looked even more confused at the random scribbles on the pages. Turning back to face Buffy, she nodded at them. "I can't read it. What does it say?"

Pretending to read from the paper Xander held up for her, Buffy spoke with a fake Eastern-European accent. "' _My hovercraft ees full uf eels_.'" She met Faith's glare with one of her own. "It's for _Dawn_. If I'd wanted everyone to read it I'd have written it in English."

"How to demonstrate 'trust,' there B."

Once again, Buffy did not flinch from her glare. "There are reasons for it. Dawn will tell you if she wants to. It's her call. But just so you know, my people don't know what it says either."

Only then did Faith notice the irritation and confusion on the faces of Buffy's companions as they looked at the writing. Jackson's frown was even deeper than hers. "This is written in Sumerian. In _my_ handwriting! But I don't recall writing it."

When he reached for the letter Buffy cleared her throat and snatched the pages away from him, gesturing for Xander to put them back in the envelope. "You _did_ write it. Don't worry, the rest of the team was there when you did it. But part of it deals specifically with the Key, so afterwards you forgot all about it. If it helps, you all understood what would happen and agreed to it. If I let you read it, you'd soon forget it and everything else that happens in the past fifteen minutes or so. So if you insist on reading it, I'm going to tell everyone all of the most embarrassing stories I've heard about you, and you'll have to wonder why everyone laughs at you the next time we return here."

Meeting Daniel's irritated look with an air-kiss, she turned back to face Xander, and her expression became hard. "Two more things, Xand, then we have to go. If people from where I am now have a counterpart alive in this reality, Bad Things happen if both of them try to remain in the same universe for too long. Forrest has a bunch of names and will be doing a lot of research to find more people like him where the local copy is no longer among the living. If you can help him with that I'd appreciate it."

Nodding affirmatively, Xander asked the follow-up question when she didn't bring it up automatically. "And second?"

This time she glared at him, her face as dangerous as he'd ever seen it. For a second he wondered what he had done to merit such an imposing glare, until she spoke. "When I come back next time I'll be checking out your bedroom. If I find that goddamned bugle in there, nothing on earth will save you from my wrath."

It took a few seconds, but finally Faith just about bust a gut laughing, and Xander's face turned slightly red as he blushed. Unfortunately for Buffy's peace of mind it seemed to her that it wasn't due to embarrassment so much as it was the look of a man who was thinking about where he was going to hide the damned thing next.

---

The First noticed almost immediately that it could no longer 'read' Faith. It had kept a close eye on the girl, as she was the person Dawn was most likely to discuss her intentions with, as well as the one most likely to lead any actual assault on the First's person or properties. It had rewarded Kennedy handsomely for injuring her, while making it clear that reward would have been considerably more handsome had she actually killed the Dark Slayer. For a second it was amused that Faith was likely dead, without any special effort on its part. A few seconds later it recalled that she had been meeting with a group of strangers, but the First hadn't been paying sufficient attention to have full details of that meeting. Either they had killed her, or, much less likely, they were somehow able to hide her from the First's psychic view. Either answer would be interesting. It probably wasn't important, given how many other people wanted Faith dead, but the First would have someone check it out in due time.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Return To Normal**

**-- **

**Chapter Thirteen**

**-- **

Everyone was happy to return home. They had only been gone a few hours from the perspective of the SGC, but had come back with a ton of data for Sam and her team to analyze, and a lot more information on their opponent. Xander had promised to get everything he could dig up on the Mutari Generator from Illyria and send it along later. For now their plan was mostly to sit and wait, watching carefully to see what transpired in the other reality once the psionic inhibitors were distributed. It wouldn't take the First long to realize something was up, and its reaction would determine their next step.

Aside from attending the nightly planning sessions where they went over Forrest's weekly intelligence upload, Buffy didn't have much to do, so to occupy her time the SGC brought in a sword-master from Japan to train her with the katana. They knew she was a naturally gifted fencer, but her Watcher hadn't shown any expertise with non-European weapons, so a chance to be trained on the famous katana by an expert caused Buffy's eyes to light up the way a diamond might have excited another girl. Her attentions suitably distracted, the SGC Command team met with their civilian overlords to report on what they had discovered, and to receive their marching orders.

Hammond had known such a meeting was inevitable, and had been preparing for it ever since Buffy had refused to travel to Washington to receive the Medal of Freedom from the President for her actions at the airport. One did _not_ refuse such an honor, but she had told them that since the person who authorized her torture had been given that same medal, she considered it to be tainted and didn't want it. Even if her actions weren't intended as a slap in the face –they _were_, but even if they _hadn't_ been-- the perception would be that it was an insult, and Hammond had tried to get her to reconsider. Even bringing in Willow hadn't been enough to make her change her mind. The politicians had reacted as indignantly as Hammond had expected, and another delegation of them had arrived shortly after the team returned from the other reality.

The whole thing was a headache Hammond did not need, but there wasn't much he could do about it. A lot of the President's people wanted to put constraints on the Slayer's activities, and Kinsey was trying to pick a fight with the SGC so he could put constraints on _theirs_. With the entire StarGate program suddenly public knowledge a lot of other people –especially foreign ones—wanted input into the matter as well. Everyone was under enormous pressure, negotiations were ongoing, the Press was putting their collective noses into everything, and somehow, through a confluence of events, Buffy had become the lynchpin of the whole situation. Or at least the wedge their opponents were using to work their way into manipulating the SGC.

The President's people –and likely the President himself—believed that Executive Privilege meant that he had the final say on all activities undertaken by the US government. Which was fine, except that Buffy did not consider herself to be a government asset. She felt that she had a higher calling than loyalty to a government which belonged to a different universe than her own. She insisted that within what she considered to be her own sphere of responsibility she retained her freedom to act as she saw fit. Given that she intended to start a war with a creature of unimaginable power, the government saw things differently. They wanted to set up a committee of experts to go over her plans, to suggest improvements, and to authorize implementation. Essentially they wanted oversight and the right to make the final 'go/no-go' decision. Buffy refused to grant them either of those things.

Both sides had good reason to stake out their positions as they had, and both were dug in and refusing to budge. It would have been no contest had the Asgard not been backing Buffy quite explicitly, to the extent of making it clear that future co-operative plans –in particular the highly secret and absolutely vital X-30x projects—were contingent on them not distracting Buffy with trivialities. Which just showed how alien the Asgard truly were. Humans understood that once a pattern was set where the Slayer had been granted autonomy, with no clearly defined limits of demarcation, she would forever insist on retaining that independence. No human government could long survive if it granted complete autonomy to a group nominally under its authority. Especially when that group –or individual—intended to _start a war_, a war which would inevitably entail the active participation of American troops.

There had already been a series of meetings on the issue, and the latest one was going no better than the others had. Kinsey was making demands, and Hammond was politely informing him that there was no way he could impose those demands. He tried to make it plain that there would be grave consequences for even making the attempt. They had all been down this road a dozen times before --Kinsey threatening that if Hammond couldn't control his subordinates then he would be replaced by someone who could; Hammond reiterating that he served at the pleasure of the President, and if the President wanted someone else to try then he was more than welcome to do so—when Jackson decided he'd had enough.

"Pardon me for interrupting, gentlemen, but there is a point I'd like to bring up."

Never one to appreciate being interrupted, especially by an minor underling, Kinsey glared at the linguist. "We haven't settled _this_ point yet, Dr. Jackson."

There was a time when Daniel Jackson had been intimidated by the rich and powerful. That time had long since passed. He met the senator's eyes without flinching, and deliberately interrupted when it looked like the man intended to return to his harangue. "No, and you didn't settle it the _last_ ten times you brought it up either. Nor are you likely to settle it _this_ time. Instead of continuing to beat our heads against this wall perhaps we should consider some other issues, and maybe we can actually accomplish something after three hours of us twiddling our collective thumbs." It was obvious to Jackson that Kinsey wanted to get rid of General Hammond and bring in someone more controllable to run the SGC. Knowing that such a move would be a disaster –Hammond was one of the few people Buffy genuinely respected-- Daniel had no qualms about butting in, even if that made him a target for Kinsey's anger. He had far more options open to him than the General did if Kinsey tried to get him fired.

With the StarGate no longer a secret, Daniel Jackson could walk into any university on the planet and write his own ticket. Knowing that fact as well as the Egyptologist did, Kinsey could do nothing but try to control his rage at the indignity he was being subjected to, and let Hammond off the hook. "Okay then Dr. Jackson, perhaps you would give us the benefit of your 'diplomatic expertise.'"

His attempt at sarcasm backfired. It would not have been politic for Jackson to mention the hundreds of treaties he had negotiated on nearly as many worlds, or point out Kinsey's disastrous record attempting to perform a similar function on those few occasions when the government made use of his somewhat limited talents dealing with other countries. A quick glance around the table showed that he didn't have to. Meeting Kinsey's eyes with a thin, deliberately condescending smile, he got down to brass tacks. "Have you looked into the rules for Slayer succession, Senator?"

Fuming at the insult, knowing he couldn't call him on it since he hadn't actually _said_ anything, Kinsey could barely snarl the words. "One dies. Another is Called."

Jackson nodded, no longer interested in a staring contest with the foolish senator, now addressing the entire table, which included a half-dozen Generals are three Deputy Undersecretaries. "_'Another is Called_.' There is _no way_ to predetermine who will be the next person Called. Even the people who have had the responsibility for doing exactly that for centuries can't do it precisely. They can narrow it down to what are called 'Potentials,' perhaps several dozen young women of approximately the correct age bracket, but even then they miss more often than not. If _they_ can't do it, there is very little chance that _we_ will be able to do it either. Which means there is no way to know who will replace Buffy once she dies. If it is a completely random process, then approximately one half of the time someone born in either India or China will be Called. Are you really certain you want to establish a precedent stating that the Slayer is subject to the whims of her local government?"

Glaring at him, Kinsey said "We are addressing that…"

Not interested in prevarication, Jackson felt no qualms about interrupting. "You can 'address' it all you want; but you won't be able to _change_ it. This is the way things _are_. Also remember that Third World countries have more young people as a percentage of their populations than we do. If the process is completely random, then maybe _five percent_ of slayers Called will be Americans. We need slayers to detect the new type of Goa'uld. We need to know about any 'slayer dreams' which might involve our planet being invaded. It would also be nice to have use of their enhanced physical abilities as infiltrators and assault specialists on our side when we run into the Goa'uld or the Ori. But if it is American policy that the slayer is subject to the authority of their native government, the leadership in Tehran might decide than any slayer Called from their country might be put to better use doing other functions for the ruling oligarchy. That government might claim to own any psychic warnings, and the right to directly negotiate with the Asgard if they need a slayer for their own purposes. Since that would also be _our_ policy, we could hardly complain if _they_ did it. Well, not without sounding like hypocritical jerks, anyway. Something all of you might want to keep in mind."

He wasn't the first to bring it up, but from the expressions on the faces of some in Kinsey's delegation Jackson had put it more bluntly than the spin others had placed on the issue. Nor was he finished. "In her native universe, governments felt compelled to turn control of the slayer over to an independent authority. There is considerable precedent for this. There have always been groups even in our universe which most states have granted certain degrees of autonomy. The clergy is a good example. Major League Baseball. Other groups need to be essentially self-regulating because the government lacks the expertise to guide them; doctors, engineers, other professional occupations fall into this category. Laws are put in place, but essentially when it comes to activities within their own field of expertise, a lot of people are bound far more by the constraints imposed by their own regulatory bodies than by direct government supervision.

"That is why we _have_ laws and regulations: so governments don't have to directly supervise people who know what they are doing far better than the people who would be watching them. So long as they act within the limits of the law and the relevant guidelines of their respective organizations, they are essentially self-regulating. Break the law and we punish them. How do we know they broke the law? Because their own governing bodies _tell us_ they did. In essence, the slayer is no different. Guidelines, yes. Inevitably a governing body such a local version of the Watchers. But no _direct_ government control. Buffy won't tolerate it, and no slayer Called after her will abide by it. Governments not only lack the expertise to regulate the affairs of a slayer, but there is a certain amount of self-interest involved as well: no other country will allow a foreign government to impose its own regulations on one of their citizens once she is Called."

Waving aside his statement, Kinsey noted the obvious. "We don't have a 'Watcher's Council.' And engineers don't start wars."

"They don't _stop_ them either! A slayer is Called to fight _monsters_, not other humans. We don't _need_ to control the slayer. Given the option they'll come to _us_ to stand against the Goa'uld. If we set a precedent that the slayer does whatever the local government tells her to do then we lose that precious resource. Instead of wasting our time demanding that Buffy submit to an authority she has made categorically clear she cannot abide, we should come up with the outlines for an organization both she and other local governments will accept. If you push this any further you'll lose Buffy. I should point out that these 'Powers That Be' creatures and the Ancients _gave_ us the slayer. If we screw it up they might just take her away again. They will probably be more than a little irritated with us if they have to do it after putting in all that time and effort. These are entities which can _change the natural laws of the entire universe_. Piss them off and the next time they might change the law of gravity, or the speed of light, or the value of _pi_."

Several people around the table couldn't conceal their shock at his words. One of them spoke up before Kinsey could change the subject. "Could they really do that?"

Jackson lifted an eyebrow. "They_ already did_! Why do you think Thor was so freaked out when he saw Buffy? He realized that someone had changed the rules on a fundamental natural level, and the Asgard hadn't even known it. None of their sensors saw it happen. Even their instruments were changed to accept the new reality as the value they had been designed to measure. So yes, it's not only possible; _it already happened_! We are talking about beings of God-like power here, gentlemen. We do _not_ want to piss them off."

There was some muttering around the room. Most of the men had been convinced that the Asgard needed earth more than the earth needed the Asgard, and the grey aliens would not retaliate if they ignored their admonition to leave Buffy Summers alone. Annoying these new, more powerful –and apparently less constrained by rules of non-interference—aliens without overwhelming reason did not seem like a Good Idea. Knowing he'd already lost at least part of the fight, Kinsey jumped back in with a snarl. "So you're suggesting that we just let the slayer decide if a war is necessary, and start one without even discussing it with us first?!"

Jackson smiled at him, his posture casual, seemingly relaxed, but his eyes were hard, unyielding. "Of course not. But that isn't what I suggested, and it isn't what she is demanding. _Buffy_ didn't decide this war was necessary; the Ancients, the Powers That Be, and the Asgard made that decision. Buffy is simply the instrument they have chosen to use to fight it. Claiming this to be her decision is ludicrous. I sincerely doubt if she would ever start a war of this magnitude without overwhelming approval from those whose opinion she respects. We are _not_ granting Buffy complete autonomy. We are acceding to an immutable ground truth, ladies and gentlemen; beings far more powerful than us _want this to happen_, and refusing their request would probably be a very _bad_ idea.

"And, as for your idea of a committee of 'experts' to approve her plans, that isn't necessary. She is _already_ discussing her strategy with the best people available: _us_. 'Us' being the _SGC_. We are the experts at fighting aliens, after all. Discussing it with people she doesn't know, doesn't trust, and who have neither the requisite expertise or experience is not just a waste of time, it's an invitation to a breakdown in security. You've been told how powerful the First is. You know it can read minds. We have used the most stringent security precautions possible to ensure that nobody who could possibly be 'read' by the First knows anything vital. The SGC is the only facility available with the expertise and resources available to ensure that the First isn't able to discover her plans prematurely.

"I understand your concerns, but in this situation they are unwarranted. There is oversight, there is feedback, and there is control. Pushing this the way you are is only annoying Buffy, which in turn annoys the Asgard, whom you _really_ don't want mad at you, because some real serious problems are on their way and it would be really nice if the Asgard were on our side when those things start to hit the fan. Think about it, ladies and gentlemen. I keep hearing about how Buffy is forcing _this_, how Buffy is demanding _that_. This is simply _not true_! It is the _Asgard_ who are pushing this. They haven't actually outright _insisted_, but they've been pretty clear that if _we_ don't do it, _they will_. And if they have to do it without our help I believe they have made it abundantly clear that we can kiss any further cooperation with them goodbye."

Audibly gnashing his teeth, Kinsey was barely able to keep himself from jumping up and telling this moron the facts of life. He'd never come across a bigger collection of self-righteous retards than the drones populating the SGC. They were sitting on top of the biggest gold mine in history, and weren't using it to its full potential due to some hippy-dippy Star Trek 'Prime Directive' commie bullshit. Not just the off-world resources –the minerals there for the taking, the defenseless labor forces available to mine them—but the scientific material such as advanced weaponry and computer technology being held back because unleashing it would let everyone know what they had. What was the point in _having_ it if you didn't _use_ it?! He knew the SGC had probably had a good laugh at him buying into the slayers suggestion of 'magical' powers, but the truth was they didn't know if it _wouldn't_ work, so it was worth finding out. By those with the vision to look a bit farther than their own asses, at least.

The present security situation had created a good cover for those men of vision. They were protected by the vast bureaucracy of State Security, whose dumb, obnoxious, arrogant agents provided a visible 'boogeyman' to the moronic unwashed masses who wanted to be protected, coddled, but occasionally offered a sacrificial lamb amongst those they perceived to be 'rich and powerful.' State Security could quite literally get away with murder so long as one of them was punished every so often for being stupid enough to get filmed doing something they could easily have gotten away with if they'd been smart enough to do it behind closed doors. Sometimes such powers were necessary to protect the herd. Only, who could be trusted with great power? Every so often true patriots were compelled to act against the expressed wishes of the duly elected government, because, well, more often than not the 'duly elected government' was comprised of morons who hadn't a clue as to how the real world worked, and were in positions of power solely due to their ability to win a popularity contest about as 'democratic' as American Idol.

On paper, State Security consisted of what had been the FBI, Border Service, Coast Guard, and most of the other Federal law enforcement organizations. The intent had been to amalgamate the various departments under one umbrella to increase efficiency and speed up the sharing of intelligence. In actual fact, they indulged in far more bureaucratic infighting to get their share of the fiscal pie than they ever had when they were independent. For the most part the upper management of the organization was comprised of bureaucrats, sniping jealously over their piece of 'turf' instead of protecting the country from its enemies. This was why, buried within the vast bureaucracy of the State Security monolith, the NID carefully and quietly assessed and directed the actions of its visible public face. Hidden from public scrutiny, they were able to ensure that _real_ work got done beyond the public 'bread and circuses' stupidity of much of State Security's functions. The NID's most important mandate was to ensure that aliens did not penetrate earth security, and that alien technology was brought, as quickly as possible, to the attention of those who ensured that the planet was protected from those same aliens.

Which was fine, and noble, and important. But, the truth was, it was difficult to maintain the security of the planet when you had to kiss the asses of morons who, through luck or happenstance, managed to attend a better school or had the ear of someone with better connections. Imbiciles, who despite limited abilities were somehow higher on the pecking order than those people more qualified to make the hard calls. Frustrated by that fact, certain individuals within the NID had come together, slowly and cautiously, to create a much more secret, much more ambitious organization. A cabal which understood that in the real world, it all came down to Power. There were a few who had it, and there was everyone else. Some fools deluded themselves with the fantasy that just because people no longer lived in caves, 'the law of the jungle' did not continue to be the most basic rule governing human affairs. Fundamentally, when you got right down to it, you either had the power to impose your will, or you bowed down before those who _did_. The Goa'uld might be arrogant idiots with delusions of godhood, but that didn't mean they were wrong about that fundamental truth. The _Trust_ knew all about Power. Their simple mandate was that when push came to shove, they would be among those being bowed _to_, not among those doing the bowing.

Plans Kinsey had been working towards since he was a young man were rapidly coming to fruition. The President was deeply unpopular, which meant Kinsey was in a very good position to win the nomination. He wanted to be on the Presidential ticket for the upcoming campaign…but that would only happen _if_ he could produce the opening needed for his backers to make billions in order to receive the hundreds of millions of dollars he would need to buy in to the Presidential race. The Trust was capable of backing his efforts with vast resources. To gain access to those resources he needed to either be in a position to exploit the alien wealth available on the other side of the StarGate, or to bypass it entirely should the 'Superstar' magic worked on this side of the Quantum Mirror. Either way, he needed to be able to influence the actions within the SGC, if not personally run the joint. If demonizing the Slayer made that outcome more likely, then he had no problem with it. "Thank you for your input, Dr. Jackson. However, if this situation with the First is really _that_ important to the Asgard, they should be far more clear about their wishes. Not to mention more willing to compensate us for assisting them in their little war. We have our own problems, and quite limited resources. Before I get us involved in another war I want to know the answer to a simple question; what's in it for _me_?"

Jackson met his eyes steadily before turning to glance into those of the other people on the committee. He could only hope they weren't _all_ complete idiots. "You don't _die_! The whole point of this is that the First intends to enact a vastly more powerful version of the same trick the Powers pulled to get a slayer here. It will quite literally change the mathematical order of space and time as we know it. The change the First is planning will _kill_ us! _All _of us! Everyone, everywhere! We can't stop it. The Asgard can't stop it. Not even these Powers That Be creatures can stop it. But Buffy knows of something which _can_ stop it."

"A religious icon! According to the Asgard, _proof_ of God's existence! And they want her to turn it into a weapon of war!"

Jackson shrugged, unimpressed. "Religious icons have been used as 'weapons of war' throughout history, Senator. The Arc of the Covenant explicitly so. God doesn't seem to object so long as the intent is to smite His enemies. Even the cross is a weapon used against the vampires in Buffy's world."

Inwardly cursing, Kinsey once again regretted the necessity of permitting Daniel Jackson to attend the session and not demanding that Summers be present. The medical reports he had been shown made it pretty clear that the girl was stressed almost to the breaking point. Frustrated and paranoid, she would have been easy to manipulate into an emotional confrontation which would have left the Committee no choice but to remove her from the SGC. Once back under the control of the Trust, they would soon 'persuade' her to be more accommodating to their 'requests.'

It was a vastly more difficult matter to manipulate Daniel Jackson. His needs were simple, and now that the secret of the StarGate was out they couldn't even threaten him with removal from the books and toys which were his sole obsessions. He didn't give a damn about their power and everyone around the table knew it. Messing with a screwed-up young girl like Buffy Summers was one thing; getting into a similar sort of public spat with Jackson at this point in time was something else again. Even more annoying, the son of a bitch was doing a real good job of derailing their discussion from the points Kinsey had been trying to make. "If she is going to use a religious icon as a weapon, I think representatives from the Church should have some input into their use. Which brings us back to the matter at hand: we need to know what she intends to do, and how she intends to do it. We need to have input into the process. We need to be able to tell her '_No_!' if she insists on doing something unacceptable. We need to be able to say there are some lines you just cannot cross."

Once again Jackson simply shrugged, unimpressed. "Actually, you don't _need_ any of those. In fact, in this particular case if I were you I'd be making every possible effort _not_ to know anything about her intentions." Smiling thinly, Jackson looked around the table, having maneuvered the entire conversation to bring up just this point, and from the looks of curiosity on their faces he had succeeded in gaining their attention. "I'm going to go off on a bit of a tangent here but I assure you it is relevant to our situation.

"There is an old story, written, I believe, by the noted science-fiction author and biochemist Isaac Asimov, which suggested that the reason we don't have time travelers popping up all around us is because the universe is built in such a way as to _actively prevent_ time travel. Because time travel involves potential paradoxes, every time someone comes up with a way to travel in time, something will happen to ensure that it _doesn't_ happen. Essentially, _if_ a paradox occurs, a self-correcting time-loop occurs simultaneously in order to _erase_ that paradox. The inventor will suffer a heart attack. An earthquake will destroy his lab. But _something_ always happens to prevent the paradox from occurring in the first place. In the story, they don't even intend to build the time machine, but instead want to give it to their enemies so that _they_ will be destroyed by the self-correction mechanism. But it's already too late. Their sun spontaneously goes nova and destroys their entire planet.

"Now, yes, I do realize that it's a story; but Major Carter tells me that physicists will tell you nearly the same thing based on what is referred to as the 'Novikov Self-Consistency Principle.' Basically, this states that if a paradox _can_ arise from a certain event, then that event simply _will not happen_. We are in a similar situation when it comes to dealing with the Key. Keep this in mind at all times, gentlemen: _the Key doesn't want to be found_! Just as in Dr. Asimov's story where it might seem that the universe is _actively_ preventing time travel, the very nature of the Key will take steps to protect itself from discovery. Except for certain individuals whom the Key itself chooses to recognize, most people will simply forget anything they learn about it within a few seconds or minutes of learning it. If they take down notes, or make recordings, they will somehow 'forget' they did so and destroy them. Or those recordings will somehow become 'lost.' Or be destroyed in an accident. More importantly, the more extreme the effort you make to ensure that your information survives, the more extreme the measure taken to ensure that it does _not_."

Turning back to face the Senator, Jackson called on all of his training and hard-won negotiating skills to show nothing but a hard, unflinching expression, because from this point on he was lying through his teeth. "You will recall that there was a plane crash outside of Washington two nights ago. One of the passengers on the plane was an employee of ours. The FAA has already made a preliminary determination that the crash was an accident caused by unexpected wind shear. Not withstanding their conclusions, SGC policy is to investigate every death of every employee, and we dug a bit deeper. We soon discovered that this particular individual was actually an undercover NID agent. We suspect that he found a way to record some information concerning the Key, and went to extraordinary lengths to ensure that information could not be forgotten, or misplaced, or corrupted.

"But as I said, the Key doesn't want to be found. And it would appear that it has the power to ensure that it _won't_ be found by anyone it doesn't want to find it. This time it used a plane crash. More than a hundred people died. I would suggest that in the interests of our collective safety, you recall Dr. Asimov's story, and not push the Key to the point of doing something as extreme as blowing up our sun in order to protect itself! If the Asgard are correct in their assessment of its potential power, it is more than capable of doing just that. And there isn't a damned thing we could do to stop it."

In fact, the plane crash _had_ been an accident. SGC Security was 99 certain there was no way the NID agent could have uncovered anything about the Key, given his limited clearance. But if a '1 Doctrine' was good enough for assassinating terrorists, it was good enough for getting redundant oversight committees off their back. Plus, there was always that 1 chance it was even true. Given the potential consequences of angering the Key, it was better to be safe than sorry. Not that he wanted to bother these fine people with such subtleties. For a second, it looked like Kinsey might jump up and start yelling in rage, before he was finally able to control himself. Jackson would have paid big money to know how he managed to do it, because chances were it was something that sooner or later would come back to bite them on the ass.

His suspicion was correct. The other committee members had already been a bit tentative in enforcing their oversight responsibilities on the SGC when it came to this particular matter, and none of them wanted to do anything guaranteed to piss off a being of god-like power. 'Blackmailing' the Asgard into pony-ing up more of their technology for the X-303 project in return for using the slayer was one thing. Messing with something that could change the speed of light throughout the entire universe smacked a bit too close to the idea of 'tugging on Superman's cape.' Which, Kinsey bitterly realized, meant that yet another attempt to gain control of the SGC had just crashed and burned. However, just before he blew a gasket, Kinsey reassured himself with the thought that if Jackson was right about the Key's ability to influence events in their universe, chances were that other magical abilities had an equal possibility of being used. The 'Superstar' option was suddenly more viable than it had looked to be a few minutes earlier.

Kinsey didn't see himself as the bad guy. He was well aware that the SGC leadership despised him, but he saw it as his destiny to save not just his nation, but his entire _planet_, from the scourges of aliens, terrorists, and liberals. If he could have trusted anyone else to do it, he'd have backed _them_, and made far more money in private practice. But even the few who had looked like they had the balls to do what needed to be done to protect the planet caved when things got tough. None of them would see their vision through to the bitter end, no matter the cost, no matter the resistance from short-sighted cowards who lacked the nerve to stand their ground. Even knowing he would be despised for doing what needed to be done, Kinsey was willing to pay that price if it was necessary to save his planet and his people from those who sought to destroy both.

It was _vision_ which separated great men from the losers. Any idiot could be trained to dig a ditch, or shoot a gun, or to read a dead language. The people working for the SGC thought they were pretty hot stuff, but in truth, each and every one of them was replaceable. What made great men 'great' was because that they were _irreplaceable_. They had the vision to see the Big Picture, the power to make it happen, and the determination to see it through to its culmination. Small men, who obsessed over trivial details, did their best to oppose acts of Greatness out of spite, or jealousy, or a mistaken belief in 'rights' which had never been intended as universal, and were not meant to be granted to their enemies. Sometimes, in his anger, Kinsey thought about just leaving them to suffering their inevitable ignominious defeat, where only at the end would they realize that he had been right all along. But he had children, and grandchildren, who deserved to grow up in a world free from tyranny.

A world which only _he_ could give them. If only the damned interfering idiots would let him get on with the job.

--

Major Paul Davis was a bit of an anomaly within the SGC. Probably the only Pentagon envoy who had earned the grudging respect of the people working within the project, he was one of the few people on earth who had access to even more secrets than SGC personnel. He was also a liaison to the group working at Area 51, the even more secret Area 52, and several projects so secret that even the SGC had never heard of them. He was very good about keeping those secrets _secret_, without rubbing everyone else's nose in the fact that he knew more about what was really going on than they did. He had a special gift for being able to hint just enough to let people who genuinely needed to know certain information know that it existed, without ever telling tales out of school to people who simply liked to collect secrets in order to feel 'in the know.' He wasn't really _liked_ by people within the SGC –he was, after all, a Pentagon weenie-- but he was _respected_, in part because he made it clear that he respected _them_.

Which was why he was presently finding it difficult to restrain his irritation with Major General George Hammond. Unfortunately he was unable to express that frustration due to the fact that he was a major, and no matter his security clearance, no mere major survived telling a major general they were acting like an idiot. Adding to his frustration was the fact that Hammond was otherwise so demonstrably _not_ an idiot. In this particular instance, however, when it came to the implications of the public at large being informed of the StarGate, Hammond was thinking like the decent man he was, and not the general officer the country needed him to _be_. Jackson's words had scared off the Committee, and Kinsey had been temporarily neutralized. Hammond was under the delusion that the problem was solved and he could get back to work. Davis needed to let him know that was most definitely _not_ the case. "Sir, I realize I am speaking to a superior office, one who has made it clear he doesn't want to listen to what I have to say, but any plan of action you come up with which does not address the points I am trying to make will be fundamentally flawed. You know as well as I do that if the underlying assumptions are incorrect, the entire plan will fail. You have always stressed the danger of being blindsided by your own subconscious bias's. With all due respect, sir, it is my belief that in this instance you have fallen into just such a trap."

Hammond frowned. It took either a lot of guts or a lot of ego for a junior officer to keep harping on a subject he had been told was closed for discussion. If it was any Pentagon liaison but Davis doing it he'd have handed them their arrogant ass. Unfortunately, Davis was the exception that proved the rule. A REMF with balls. And, alas, brains as well. If _he_ thought it was important, chances were he was right. Not to mention the fact that Hammond would crucify any of his subordinates who refused to listen to someone who had information he didn't just because he didn't want to hear it. "I thought the meeting went well, Major. Dr. Jackson managed to convince the committee that Buffy is following orders, not giving them. That it is in our own best interests to accommodate the people who are issuing her those orders. Wasn't that what we needed them to understand?"

"They _understand_, sir; and it may change how they address the situation, but it will _not_ change the end result." Noting the general's frown, Davis got up from his chair in front of Hammond's desk and walked over to a map of the Earth on one wall. "There have been a lot of reasons to keep the StarGate project a secret. We all knew that it would get out eventually, but the more we studied even the best-case scenario, the more we hoped we could delay the inevitable as long as possible. The StarGate represents quite literally a quantum leap in effective power. It increases our military capabilities across the board: technologically, accessible resources, access to potential allies, contingency options, _everything_. Every other country on Earth is going to realize that fact soon enough, if they don't already. They will also soon understand that the longer the StarGate remains exclusively within our possession, the more our advantage extends, both qualitatively and quantitatively.

"We have worked out arrangements with our closest allies to ensure they shared in this bounty… which is the reason they have _remained_ our allies. Everyone without access to StarGate technology is _already_ falling behind, and falling behind further at an increasing rate every passing day. They know it. More than a few of them will be desperate to do something about it. They will soon demand access to the 'Gate and its technological spinoffs, backed by _threats of war_ if we refuse. Most of those countries don't represent much of a military threat, but as we have learned to our cost in Iraq, there are alternative strategies they might use against us should they realize they cannot stand up to US military power. If they don't want to fall into complete irrelevance, some of those countries are going to feel they have _no choice_ but to do whatever they must do in order to gain access to this technology. The situation, sir, is about to get very, very bad. We have gamed this out a hundred times. Our projections indicate a short period of inactivity while everyone assesses their options, followed by an rapid, massive increase in the global threat level within a few months of the public being informed about the existence of the StarGate. Things get progressively worse the farther forward our projections are extended. Every projection –_every single one of them_—ends in global warfare."

Hammond found himself blinking in stunned disbelief at the brutal assessment. He hadn't given it a lot of thought. His job was to run the SGC. It was up to others to handle international relations. He had never considered just how dramatic the revealing of the SGC would be, or the political implications. Unfortunately, Davis wasn't finished. "The transition from our old economy to one based on StarGate-derived technologies will destroy entire industries. The economic disruption at home will likely include _millions_ of jobs being lost. New jobs, even new industries, will soon rise as First World economies take advantage of the new developments. But first there will be massive disruption as millions of people will have to be retrained, entire manufacturing chains realigned. Some people will adapt better than others. Those who can't adapt will be frustrated. And angry.

"Once we go through the transition to the new economy everyone will be far better off than they are now. Until that happens, we are looking at total chaos in many less-developed countries –including effectively complete government collapse throughout the Third World-- and severe disruptions within most of the Industrialized world. Given this scenario, the Israeli's are expecting the Iranians to attack at any minute. European labor movements are contemplating creating massive economic disruptions as we speak. Even here in the States, wealthy individuals who are suddenly discovering that their products are about to be rendered obsolete are demanding that their pet politicians protect them from the upcoming economic chaos. If we suppress the technology, foreign governments will suspect we have ulterior motives. If we don't, the disruption unleashed will be almost as bad."

Considering his words, Hammond realized he had just sort of assumed nothing would really change once the secret got out, except there would probably be more international teams going through than just the Russian and British ones doing so already. Economic disruption was inevitable, he supposed, but global chaos seemed a trifle extreme. "There are always new technologies, Major. People don't go to war over them."

Meeting his eyes steadily, Davis tried to convey the depth of the problem. "This isn't simply a new 'gadget' coming to market, sir! This is a _quantum leap_ in technological development, across the board. It is such a huge leap that anyone who has it will be able to dominate everyone who doesn't. Even our closest allies are not going to be comfortable permitting us such a huge jump in relative power. They will demand equal and unfettered access to all such technologies on an equal footing with American companies. You can imagine how well that will go over in Congress. But if they refuse, we will lose those allies as allies. Those nations which already don't like us will realize they have to act immediately if they hope to prevent us from becoming so dominant they can never do anything to threaten us again."

"What the hell are you talking about, Major?! We should give up the StarGate because the Chinese might be jealous of us?! Do you think they would be better custodians of it? I most certainly do not!"

The Major was indignant at the suggestion. "Neither do I, sir! But, from the Chinese perspective, _they do_! And not just the Chinese. _Anyone_ who doesn't want to be dominated by American culture, values, or policy decisions simply _will not _be able to accept the status quo. The French have long been upset over what they regard as our 'cultural imperialism.' They are _not_ going to tolerate a situation where if they do not take immediate action, they will have no chance of ever again challenging the slightest whim of the US government. They are going to feel that _they have no choice_ but to do something about it."

Hammond glared at the major, who bore the look without budging. "I don't see a whole lot they can do about it, major. We have the StarGate. We are _keeping_ the 'Gate! Anyone who tries to take it by force is in for a very serious lesson in _real_ geopolitical power."

Shrugging, Davis spoke respectfully but without backing down an inch. "There is quite a _lot_ they can 'do about it,' sir. They can 'accidentally' set off a nuke in low-earth orbit, frying a trillion dollars worth of our satellites. They can deliberately sabotage the international banking system. They can withdraw from all bilateral trade agreements and disrupt international trade. Even with the StarGate, the vast majority of our trade will be internal. The StarGate will _not_ save us from a trade war, or global economic collapse. If they are _really_ upset, they can supply biological weapons to 'terrorist' organizations, or make a deal with one of the Goa'uld System Lords to hit us after they have introduced a high-end computer virus to bring down our defense grid. These are examples of the things they can do _right now_, and there is a lot of incentive from their perspective to do it _now_, while they still can. Because in a very short period of time they _won't_ be able to do anything. So if they are going to do something, they have to act quickly. I'm not just talking about France, either. There are a _lot_ of countries who will decide it is better to fight than subject themselves to what they see as American domination.

"It's been done before, sir. _We_ did it before! The entire Cold War was predicated on the aegis of MAD, where both sides essentially stated that they would rather destroy the planet than submit to the dominance of their opponent. I would suggest that it is foolish to assume that other countries are less adamant in their determination not to submit to _our_ domination. Were the situation reversed, I do not believe we would come to any other conclusion either."

Feeling a freezing sensation along his spine, Hammond realized that Davis was expressing not just his own opinion, but the consensus of his group within the Pentagon. That powerful group was not known for being unduly alarmist. "The French and Chinese and other members of the Security Council already know about the StarGate, Major. I do not believe that the agreements we have already reached with them will be tossed aside merely because we have publicly acknowledged the existence of the project."

Davis shook his head. "Things change once the situation becomes public knowledge, sir. Opposition parties start asking questions. Voters start asking questions. And, most importantly, we were able to reach the previous agreement because the _Asgard_ made it clear that the agreement we arrived at was the one _they_ wanted. Recent events may have altered their position. I, uh, must reluctantly point out that we have received reports that an Asgard representative has been holding secret meetings with EU representatives in Brussels. I strongly suspect that when other countries insist on reopening negotiations regarding StarGate operations, the Asgard cannot be counted on to provide us such unequivocal support as we have previously enjoyed."

Hammond's jaw practically dropped to the floor at that revelation. They had never mentioned… he suddenly realized that since Sif had returned to her homeworld, the Asgard had not been in touch with the SGC. That wasn't unusual, there were often quite prolonged intervals between visits. But to hear that they might be on Earth and _not_ talking to the SGC was extremely troubling.

Davis noted his concerned look, and silently gave thanks that he had finally broken through. "We have about three months while foreign governments consider their options… perhaps even six if they delay long enough to see what sort of deal they can make with the Asgard. After that it is anyone's guess what will happen. But I strongly suspect that it will _not_ be something we like. In order to position our response the government will soon insist on total control over all StarGate operations. In particular, they are going to demand that you abandon this planned confrontation with the First…"


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

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**Return To Normal**

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**Chapter Fourteen**

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England was pretty much the way Dawn expected it to be. Old and green and crowded and wet. Surprisingly cool, even by Cleveland standards… at least, springtime Cleveland standards. The food sucked and the beer didn't. When they first entered the country, she had tried to pass off her nervousness as normal tourist confusion while she stood in line to clear customs. Not that long ago Chunnel passengers had been 'prescreened' and did not have to spend several hours having themselves and their baggage searched at both ends. This was no longer the case. Ever since the First had ramped up its campaign to frighten the population through acts of terror, every country in the world had assumed its own border controls. Since Dawn was being blamed for much of that terrorism, she had reason to be concerned. Fortunately their preparations had worked, and Dawn was cleared by a Customs agent who happened to be secretly allied with the Ronin.

Things might have gone rather badly had she not been one of them. Much to her dismay, Dawn Summers had become the most notorious terrorist in the history of the world, causing more death and chaos than had ever been dreamed of by that bin Laden fellow. Backed by her evil minions, she had bombed the Smithsonian, Walter Reed Hospital, Disneyland, and the victors' locker room at the 2009 Superbowl. Vampires under her control had attacked an orphanage in Miami, and a Home For the Mentally Challenged in Rochester. Apparently she also drowned puppies and had funded a secret abortion clinic in South Dakota. Even worse, demons were attacking innocent people in cities again for the first time in years, explicitly claimed they were working for Dawn. Slayers Inc. had jumped in at the last second to save babies from being eaten by her minions on one particularly effective Prime Time broadcast of the 'Slayers To The Rescue!!' 'reality' show.

A tearful 'Buffy' had gone on television and assumed full responsibility for her sister turning into such a monster, and promised she would leave no stone unturned until the girl was brought to justice. When Dawn had tried to tell a reporter that she hadn't been responsible for _any_ of those outrages, a prominent congressman who was also a medical doctor had diagnosed schizophrenia from the muscle twitches around her eyes. When Dawn had mentioned that she was only blinking from the bright camera lights, it was speculated that she was setting herself up for a 'diminished capacity' defense for when her sister finally brought her to justice.

With Slayers Inc. the only organization with any hope of stopping the lunatic from her campaign of terror, 'Buffy's' people were given law-enforcement authority and the power to arrest anyone at any time for any reason. Her slayers had swiftly become a law unto themselves. Thousands of people had been rounded up and locked away in special security zones. Not one of them were Ronin. The few times a Ronin had been caught up in a random sweep, they had soon been released without comment. Even with all her precautions Dawn was uncomfortably aware that the First could destroy her entire group pretty much at will, but they provided such a good excuse for the First's power grab that the last thing it wanted was to actually capture her. If she was inadvertently caught they would almost certainly release her. However a lot of people would likely die during her 'escape,' and Dawn didn't want that on her conscience, so had been glad to clear Customs without incident.

She was in way over her head, and knew it. So far she hadn't made many mistakes, but she hadn't accomplished a whole lot either. Not being present when the real Buffy had showed up six months earlier had been emotionally devastating. The plans her sister had provided were sufficiently detailed to give her an objective, and provided motivation and an emotional lift for the Ronin. But Dawn had really needed some time to just _talk_ to Buffy, to tell her what was really going on, to tell her _what to do. _The note written in Sumerian had made it pretty clear that there were forces working against her sister as well, so no communications through the Quantum Mirror could be entirely trusted. She couldn't even send a private letter explaining how scared she was, how uncertain she was, how she was making things up as she went along and just hoping against hope that when she inevitably screwed up she didn't get too many of her friends killed. It had always been _Buffy_ who handled these things, and Dawn felt she was just an amateur faking it, a pale shadow of the sister who had effortlessly led her people to victory after victory.

Even knowing it hadn't actually been that way didn't make Dawn feel any better. Suspecting that Buffy had probably been 'faking it' just as much as she was, doing the best she could and hoping she didn't screw up too badly, didn't change the fact that she desperately wanted someone to hold her hand and tell her she was doing good. Xander tried his best, but he didn't really understand, never having been in a similar position. She wanted _Buffy_, but her sister wasn't available. Which left only one alternative: _Giles_. Buffy had been pretty adamant about not speaking to Giles, but Dawn needed to talk to someone, and she hoped the new Mind Shields would ensure that the First never learned of her discussions with Giles. So here she was, halfway around the world from the front lines of the battle her forces were waging, accompanied by only two Ronin bodyguards, off to visit her sister's surrogate father so he could hug her, pat her on the head, and tell her that everything would be alright.

Scowling at the thought that she was acting so pathetically immature, Dawn reminded herself that there were other factors involved in her decision to visit Giles. Although nobody had found anything wrong with Buffy's plan, she _had_ lost to the First, she _had_ died, and nobody was absolutely certain they could really trust her. The lack of any viable alternative plan meant their options were pretty limited, but having Buffy's plans assessed by someone who knew her as well as Giles did seemed like a good idea. Especially since it was demonstrably obvious that Giles would not put his love for Buffy ahead of his loyalty to the Watchers. After all, it could be interpreted that he had effectively 'betrayed' her to the First in order to protect whatever he could recover from the destruction of the Watchers Council.

Buffy had told her that she understood why Giles had done so, but Dawn was still pretty bitter about it. From all she had seen of them, the Watchers hadn't been worth a damn, so as far as she was concerned having them bombed out of existence had been no great loss. Giles had also subjected Buffy to the _Cruciamentum_, despite his own personal opposition to the barbaric exercise. Organizations didn't survive more than a thousand years without building up incredible loyalty among its members, its traditions and practices ingrained to the point where they were accepted despite no logical reason for continuing to do so. In the Western world, only the Catholic Church had lasted longer than the Watchers Council. As the Last Watcher, Dawn suspected that Giles would be more loyal to his lost traditions than to his 'adopted daughter.' But he was also smart, and competent, and had the sort of analytical brain which might see something in Buffy's plan which Dawn had missed.

Not to mention that he possessed all that remained of the Council archives.

So the official reason she was going to see Giles was to let the Last Watcher go over the plan before Dawn committed the Ronin to following it. Her personal reasons for seeing him were more complicated. But really, they boiled down to the fact that she needed to talk to _someone_, and he was pretty much the only one left. From the reports she knew he had really fallen apart since Dawn herself had abandoned Slayers Inc. Her defection had been the final straw. The issues he'd had with 'Buffy,' and lack of respect from the new slayers hadn't been enough to prevent him from at least _trying_ to ingrain some of the ancient traditions on girls who weren't interested. When Dawn had walked out, it not only meant the loss of his most promising protégé, it had pretty much sealed the fate of the Watchers. Among the others, only Andrew had possessed the required intelligence, but he had lacked a certain… uhm… _sanity_. With the end of his dream of any hope for redemption, Giles had abandoned himself to the alcoholism which had been the bane of his existence since he was a teenager.

Even knowing how much he had changed from the surveillance photos, Dawn was stunned by the appearance of the man who finally opened the door to her repeated knocks. His home was centuries old, built on an isolated estate in Cornwall, inherited from parents he hadn't been close enough to to even despise. Few people bothered to visit, which was apparently the way he liked it, based on the profane tirade the unkempt old man unleashed once he finally opened the door. Even before he raised bloodshot eyes to her face, he had worked his way not only through the seven conventional dirty words, but added a few more in various other tongues to describe her stupidity, personal hygiene, attitude, and probable ancestry. Had she not been so shocked by his appearance, Dawn would have been impressed by the display of profane virtuosity.

Giles looked at least twenty years older than the last time she had seen him. His hair was long, unkempt, greasy, and a yellowish-white. His face was deeply lined, his teeth tinged green and covered in plaque, his nose red-splotched with broken veins. His eyes were even worse, and without his glasses on it took several seconds for him to focus enough to realize who was standing there. The bitter tirade stopped abruptly, his mouth closed with an audible '_clack_.' "D-D-D-_Dawn_?!?" His voice was harsh, the word muffled, as if his tongue was too large for his mouth. He was wearing a housecoat over pajamas, despite it being early in the afternoon, with slippers on his bare feet. He had lost weight, and somehow looked much shorter than the last time she saw him, perhaps due to a stooping posture. An old Sunnydale hand, he didn't invite her in, but stood aside a few seconds later and used a surprisingly graceful hand gesture to permit her entry, without ever seeing the two bodyguards silently disappear to patrol the grounds.

Inside, the house was almost as unkempt as its owner. Books and loose papers were piled atop furniture which looked expensive, but hadn't been dusted in years. Few lights were on. Dishes were piling up in the sink, and splatters of grease covered the walls near the stove. Dawn was quite frankly disgusted with the place, and glared at her old mentor. "Jesus Christ, Giles; this is pretty goddamned pathetic."

For a moment his expression was a bit mulish, as if he was considering unleashing an angry rejoinder, before simply shrugging. A quick glance around forced him to agree: it _was_ pretty pathetic. Excuses be damned. Making a valiant attempt to stand up straighter, he tried to reclaim some of his lost dignity. "I was just about to put on some tea. Might I offer you something to drink?"

Wondering if he had a clean mug available, Dawn settled for requesting coffee, and watched as he shuffled away with the careful movements of an intoxicated man striving to affect sobriety, talking to her as he moved towards the kitchen. "It will have to be instant, I am afraid. I have a lifetime supply of Nescafe. What you Americans call 'Tasters Choice.' A rather long story I would rather not get into…"

Giving him some time to pull himself together, Dawn removed stacks of paper from a chair in the living room and sat down, trying to control her own reaction. She barely remembered her own father –technically speaking, she had never met Hank at all—so to all intents and purposes, Giles was the only father-figure she had ever known. Seeing him in such a state hit her harder than she could have imagined it might. Not just because of his drunken, unwashed state, but because of how _old_ he looked compared to the way she remembered him. It had been less than two years, but Giles looked like he had aged decades. He had been one of those lucky men who had aged gracefully –her friends had called him a 'FILF,' the male counterpart to the more well-known 'MILF'—thanks to his dashing looks, wonderful voice, and charming manners. He no longer qualified. This man looked like a grandfather… one who hadn't had a bath in a month.

When he finally returned, carrying a tray supporting what appeared to be his best china, Dawn smiled wistfully as she accepted her mug and studied him as he prepared his tea, crushing loose leaves into a silver ball, carefully dipping it from a chain into the pot until the color was just right, and only then pouring. His hands shook slightly, but he had made an effort to comb his hair, although a few days growth of grey whiskers prevented him from looking anywhere close to being fit to receive visitors. Deciding to get it out of the way without any polite small-talk, Dawn waited until he finally met her eyes before asking him straight up: "You knew all along, didn't you?"

The cup shook in its fine china saucer as Giles couldn't keep his hands steady. After a few seconds of him obviously trying to find some way of responding, perhaps by lying, or pretending to not understand the question, he simply nodded tightly, head hung, his eyes closed, his face a mask of bitter regret.

"You told us that the Bringer who destroyed the Council attacked you as well, but claimed you killed it. That wasn't true, was it? You were captured, and made some kind of deal with the First."

Hands shaking so badly he had to quickly put the cup and saucer down on a pile of books, Giles rubbed his face, leaving streaks from the tears he could not hold back in the dirt around his eyes. "Yes. I did. God help me: I _did_."

"_How could you_?!" Almost shaking with the anger she had thought she had under control, Dawn's voice rose in volume with the bitterness she could not hold back. "She was practically your _daughter_! How could you _betray_ her like that? _Why didn't you tell her the truth_?!?"

His eyes were filled with pain as he met her own, almost masochistically welcoming the lashing accusation. Obviously feeling that he deserved far worse. Finally able to respond. "You did not understand what you were up against. Buffy never stood a chance. It taunted me with the fact, you see, that no matter what she did, she would _die_. Even accepting the offer of more power from the Shadowmen would not have saved her. No tactic, no conceivable stratagem could overcome the confluence of events the First had established. The only question was whether any of the Potentials might survive."

"You should have told her the _truth_! Didn't she deserve the chance to make her _own_ decision?! _Who the hell were you to make that choice for her_!?!"

There was a long pause, both of them crying, tears falling silently, both hurting, before Giles finally answered, very quietly. "I was the man who loved her like a father, and wanted to spare her the pain." He had to struggle to get control of himself before continuing, voice a bit stronger, a bit more certain. "She was a fighter, and would have struggled to the bitter end. She would have chosen the most painful option for herself, to spare the others. But in the end, her sacrifice would have been for naught, because it would not have changed the outcome in the slightest."

Dawn continued to glare at him, now that it was finally out in the open almost unable to contain her rage. "Isn't that how things turned out anyway? She sacrificed herself, and it was all for _nothing_."

Shaking his head emphatically, Giles struggled to get a grip on his own emotions. "She went down _fighting_, thinking until the very end that she might win. You must have seen what she was like with Glory, when she concluded that it was _futile_, that _nothing_ she might do could alter the inevitable outcome of the confrontation. It was _not my place_ to deny her this. If this was to be her last hurrah, then she deserved to 'go down swinging.' She had _earned_ the right to do so."

He sighed in bitter frustration. "There were at least a _hundred thousand_ Torak-han in the First's army, Dawn. _Nothing_ could have stopped them. The First had already located the Scythe, which is essentially a manifestation of the slayer power, a talisman of the original spell. Even if Buffy hadn't thought of using it to activate the Potentials on her own, the First would have suggested it to Willow. After it was used to activate them, all it would mean was that instead of one slayer, there would be a grand total of perhaps _forty_ of them, facing the same massive army of Torak-han. Those are not good odds. Even the Spartans had 300 warriors at Thermopylae. And, much as I loved her, Buffy was no Leonidas." He paused, his bitterness momentarily distracted by a professorial aside. "Which is probably just as well, given that the movie rather soft-pedaled the Spartans predilection for copulating with prepubescent boys."

The pause permitted him to gain enough control over his emotions to sip some of his tea before continuing. "If I had told her the truth, Buffy never would have permitted Willow to perform the spell. The First needed that spell to be enacted and was prepared to take extreme measures to ensure that it was. You saw how the Torak-han tortured Spike in order to open the seal to the Hellmouth. Do you think Willow could have long resisted performing the spell had they done something like it to _her_, or to _Buffy_? Once they were activated, the First planned to sacrifice _all _of the slayers in order to open the Hellmouth and release the Torak-han horde. I do not believe that it intended their deaths to be either slow, or painless. I was able to negotiate an… alternative solution. The First was willing to provide the pendant, which could be used to kill all of the Torak-han, using _their_ sacrifice to open the Hellmouth. But I could do nothing to save Buffy. The First needed her body, and nothing I could say would persuade it otherwise."

Sitting back in her chair, Dawn considered his words. She was furious, and wanted to lash out, to blame someone for what had happened. But Buffy herself had figured out what Giles had done and his motivations for doing so, and had forgiven him. Holding on to her rage despite that seemed pretty foolish, but she was finding it difficult not to do so. He had _lied_. Worse, he had not _prevented it from happening_. Even in her anger Dawn knew there was no way he could have done so, that what she was feeling was pure petulance, but that didn't change the way she felt. Only Giles and the First had been there to make the decisions, and she knew she wouldn't get very far pouting at the First. Which meant Giles got to be the whipping boy. It wasn't fair, but she wasn't in any mood to be fair. "Did you think about 'afterwards,' as in what the hell we were going to do with the _First Evil_ masquerading as Buffy, leading all the new slayers, and, oh, yes, acquiring _nuclear fucking weapons_?!?"

To her surprise, he responded to her accusation with a chagrined, but genuine, smile. "No. I didn't really think that far ahead. At the time my only hope was to salvage _something_ from what at the time appeared to be complete disaster. But, afterwards… well, as you said, it has now become so powerful that it even has control over atomic weaponry. I could not come up with any feasible plan to stop it." He gestured to the stacks of books and papers surrounding them. "I continue to try, but so far my research has found nothing which will even _inconvenience_ so formidable a creature…"

After a short pause, during which she contemplated asking him how much 'research' he could do while drunk, Dawn finally worked up the courage to ask the question she'd wanted to ask all along. "What the hell were you _thinking_?!?"

He sighed, wiping his stubbled chin with a shaking hand. "It is even worse than you think, Dawn. I do not know if I can even explain. This has been very… _difficult_… for me. You don't understand all that has been involved, everything which has led to this disaster. My own culpability in this extends far beyond simply not telling Buffy about the First. My guilt is far, _far_ worse than what you assume. You see, I not only did not tell Buffy what was happening, I didn't tell the _Council. _" When he saw that she did not understand, he got up and began pacing, hands clutching opposite forearms in an unconscious defensive measure, unable to face her. "Two years before this occurred, Buffy died to save the world. To save _you_ from Glorificus. At the time I had argued that it would be better to sacrifice _you_, but she would not hear of it. You were her _sister_, and she made it unequivocally clear that she would kill anyone who threatened to harm you. At the time I did not understand why she would be so adamant about this, but she was the slayer, and so I deferred to her wishes.

"She died. Heroically. But then she came back." He stopped pacing to stare at Dawn, and his bloodshot eyes were haunted. "I loved her, and I missed her, but she should _never_ have been brought back! Not that way. Not _any_ way! Had I the slightest suspicion that Willow would even contemplate such an action I would stopped her… using any measures necessary, should it come down to that. She had no idea of the forces involved, the horrors she would unleash. No concept of the powers operating behind the scenes, manipulating events when naïve fools with far more power than brains blunder into a realm beyond their understanding.

"In my youth, _I _was such a fool. Willow had always seemed so _sensible_, so intelligent and mature. Obviously there were underlying psychological issues I never saw, and the consequences of this error in judgment were nothing short of _catastrophic_! Not just for Willow herself, but for the entire world. You see, Buffy was _not meant_ to come back. She had accomplished everything she was meant to do. Returning her to her flesh-bound existence initiated a chain of events which caused Buffy nothing but pain, disrupted the normal flow of history, and permitted the First to become corporeal. This is because Willow not only performed a spell which was nothing short of an abomination, but she also tampered with the underlying rules governing slayer succession. Buffy herself knew that she came back 'wrong.' _And so did I! _"

Scowling, he ran his hand through his hair, scowling further at the dirt and knots he had neglected for so long. But he could not hide from the truth by distracting himself with trivialities. This was his '_mea culpa_' moment, and could not be sidestepped. He had lied long enough. "Oh, yes; I _knew_. I knew something was wrong when she came back with her slayer powers intact. I hadn't expected a new slayer to be Called –we all knew the line continued through Faith—but there was _no way_ she should have maintained her status as a slayer after dying. There was considerable discussion within the Council as to how she had maintained those powers when she was momentarily drowned by the Master, but it was assumed those were merely the result of special circumstances. After all, she was inside the Hellmouth at the time, surrounded by powerful mystical wards. But even with that excuse the Council never trusted her afterwards.

"They had good reason to do so, especially since such was not the case when she died in your stead. Granted that Glory's portal contained mystical energies, but her actual cause of death was due to concussive impact from the fall. She passed through the portal, long enough to heal the instability your blood created, and smashed into the earth with enough force to crush every bone in her body. This death was _natural_, was _meant to be, _and Willow's use of dark magic to bring her back to life was diametrically _un_natural. This was manifested in her maintaining her slayer powers, which was _equally_ unnatural. When the Chose One dies, the slayer 'essence' is passed on to the next Potential waiting to be Called. This is the way it works! The way it has _always_ worked! Were this not the case, one can imagine abominations such as a slayer turned by a vampire, arising with both vampiric and slayer powers. Such a creature would be almost unstoppable.

"It was my duty to warn the Council of this. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that they never even knew she had died! By using the robot, her friends succeeded in maintaining the illusion that Buffy was still alive. For months the supernatural element was deceived by this duplicity, as was the Watchers Council. When I returned to England to report what had happened, I soon realized that nobody had the slightest idea there had ever even been a problem. And so, to my everlasting shame, I told them nothing which might suggest otherwise."

Unable to stand any longer, he returned to his seat, looking towards Dawn, but obviously not seeing her. The horror in his eyes was obvious, as was the pain, and especially the shame. "I knew my duty. I knew what I had to do. I was a _Watcher_! There are legends, prophesies associated with such events. Nothing good can come of them. Disaster was the _best_ I could hope for. Apocalypse was not only possible but _likely_. I had to tell them!

"But I could not. I knew what they would do were they to learn the truth. What they would have _no choice_ but to do. And so, in the end, I could _not_ tell them. I loved her too much. Betraying her during the _Cruciamentum_ almost killed me. I could not bear to do it again. _I just couldn't_! And so _I _am responsible for what happened next."

Taking a deep breath, Giles finally gained enough control over himself to meet Dawn's eyes, his expression so haunted it cut through her anger, leaving her confused and frightened. "What I did afterwards was even more reprehensible than what I _failed_ to do with the Council. I could not let them kill her… but I then proceeded to do my best to make Buffy…_give up_." Noting the shock in her expression, the old man –and he was suddenly a _very_ old man—finally told someone else the truth which had been slowly killing him. "I try to tell myself that my intent was not to drive her to suicide. That I only wanted her to run away, to abandon the Hellmouth, to seek a new life for the two of you, somewhere safer. Some days I even believe it. But I knew how unhappy she was. I knew how precarious was her mental state. I knew how desperate was her financial situation, how faltering her relationship with you and her friends. I knew how desperately she needed me to help her while she came to terms with what could only be a horribly traumatic experience.

"And so I turned my back on her. Packed up my bags and left.

"I made up some ludicrous story about her 'needing to stand on her own two feet,' to become a responsible adult, and I scurried home to England like a whipped cur. Leaving the girl I claimed to love in an untenable state, none of it of her own making, to fend for herself. For years she and her closest friends had looked to me as the 'voice of responsibility' they could come to for adult advice. All of them were falling apart, so consumed with their own pain they couldn't see that their friends were undergoing similar trials. Xander had just left Anya due to his fears of becoming like his parents. Willow was pursuing her magical obsession in directions which I of all people knew could only lead to disaster. And Buffy herself was barely functional, clinically depressed, penniless, and overburdened with responsibilities she was in no shape to manage. These were my friends –my _children_, damnit!!—at the lowest point of their entire lives.

"And I simply abandoned them to their fate."

Looking old, and defeated, and ashamed, Giles reached for the glass which remained on the table in front of him, obviously desperate for a drink of something stronger than tea, his hands shaking with the strain of not grasping the alcohol. For long seconds the issue was in doubt, before he gave an audible sigh, and returned his hand to stroking the short grey stubble on his chin. "Somehow she found the strength to survive. Buffy tended to do that, you know. Surprise people, I mean. Finally, however, the truth came out, as it also tends to do. The First's plan. The attack on the Potentials. I had to return to Sunnydale, _knowing_ what was happening, _knowing_ how to stop it, and being too weak to do so. Because there was only one option remaining to me, and I simply could not bring myself to kill her.

"However, I could make things more difficult for her. Increase the likelihood that she would be injured by the Turok-han, forcing Faith to take over leadership of her group. Or perhaps make her abandon the Potentials –or make _them_ abandon _her_-- and therefore not be present within the Hellmouth during the critical moments. Even in those efforts I failed. Your sister was a _hero_. And she would not be denied.

"This is the end result."

Dawn had never seen a man so defeated. Not just beaten, but robbed of everything which had given his life meaning. She did not know what to say. Wasn't sure what she _should_ say. Was forgiveness even _possible_, for what he had done? Had he 'betrayed' his daughter, or simply done the best he could when every alternative was worse than the last? She didn't know. Finally she simply reached into her bag, pulled out a thick notepad, and handed it over without comment. After not receiving any additional information despite raising his eyebrows questioningly, Giles opened the notebook, and frowned as he struggled to translate the writing. The alphabet was Sinhalese, a language native to Sri Lanka, but the words didn't make any sense. After sounding them out, however, he realized they expressed a bastardized phonetic version of Anglo-Romani, a gypsy language with no written form. There was a distant linguistic relationship between the languages however, and despite feeling like a child for having to speak the words aloud to get their meaning, Giles was soon able to understand what he was reading. It was a plan to fight the First. A very detailed, very professional, and very well thought out plan.

The plan was not only far more advanced than anything he had come up with, it included logistical elements he had never even considered. Only the military came up with scenarios so detailed, every logistical detail noted, all contingencies considered. Giles wondered how they had gotten such sophisticated information on the First and its likely tactics. _Nobody_ understood the First with this degree of certainty! And yet, everything made _sense_! Everything fit together so perfectly, an interlocking mesh of military logic and psychological intuition astounding in the depths of its insight. "This is… _amazing_! Who wrote this?!"

Before responding, Dawn pulled what appeared to be a portable CD-player from her bag and placed it on the table between them. She met his eyes, and kept her face expressionless. "Buffy."

For a moment he looked confused. Without explaining, Dawn slowly began to smile. For long seconds Giles looked like he was struggling to understand, until he was finally overcome with a desperate, amazed hope, his heart suddenly beating so fast he thought it might explode from his chest. What he was thinking was ridiculous on the face of it. But Buffy had already returned from the dead more than once. If anyone could do so, it would be the daughter of his heart. When he started crying, Dawn could not prevent herself from joining in.

----

As he dug around the piles of books, Giles kept up his end of the conversation. "I believe I have previously indicated that it had never been my ambition to become a Watcher. In truth, I wanted to be anything _but_ a Watcher. Tradition held that the eldest join the Watchers –male or female; as a group, the Watchers were quite an enlightened bunch from far back—and I was the middle child. I had some interest in magic, and because of that read more of the texts than my brother. Despite his belief to the contrary, it was not done out of interest in following the family tradition. What I did not realize was that he had even less interest in becoming a Watcher than I did –he was something of a chess prodigy, and his own interests did not extend far beyond that infernal game—and was constantly abandoning his training to participate in tournaments around the world.

"At the time I was in my late teens, and had been experimenting with the sort of magics I would later warn Willow to stay well away from. For good reason, I might add. But at the time I was just as foolish as she turned out to be, just as excited about playing with forbidden knowledge, and was just as arrogant regarding my own talent. I summoned a lower demon, and discovered, to my horror, that my containment spells were inadequate to hold a creature of such latent power. It got away from me, and caused considerable damage before the slayer of that time was able to subdue it.

"My brother threatened to inform my parents that I was the one responsible for unleashing the demon unless I agreed to take his place and train as a Watcher. For reasons of his own he wished to move to Bangkok, but knew they would never permit him to leave unless he found a replacement for the sacrifice our family was required to make to the Council. I know I am being a trifle harsh: he _did _have reason to believe that I had an interest in the subject, and even more reason to think that I needed someone to ride herd on me before my magic consumed me. But I did resent being blackmailed, and do tend to hold a grudge, so haven't much use for him to this day… the miserable Judas."

Finally locating the book he had been seeking, Giles pulled it out from under a stack of similar volumes and began searching for the relevant passages. There wasn't much information concerning Illyria. The Old One had been confined to the Deeper Well for the entirety of human history, and only the fact that she had somehow been able to maintain a small cadre of worshippers for all that time had brought her to the attention of the Watchers Council. Giles had recovered some data from the archive sites after the destruction of the Council headquarters and the loss of its irreplaceable Library, but many of the original records had been magical in nature, and the backups could not give a full and complete picture. But there was enough, especially when combined with hints based on what Angel had done to her. Faith had been correct almost two years earlier: the Mutari Generator _had_ turned out to be critical to their plans.

Their research might have gone faster had Dawn not been eating a peanut-butter-and-salmon sandwich. Topped with anchovies and crushed Oreos. Backups or not, the records they were using were all that now existed for much of the data, so _nobody_ was permitted to read them while they were eating. Besides that; peanut-butter and _salmon_?! Giles shuddered. The monks had done an amazing job, but somewhere in their spell they'd mispronounced a syllable or two. Dawn's taste in food remained notoriously bizarre. He didn't say anything only because their truce was still rather fragile. Dawn still wanted someone to blame for 'betraying' her sister. Giles already felt guilty enough, even without her adding to it. But even with the dark emotional undercurrents, it was wonderful to be back researching, particularly with a gifted pupil at hand. Even if her 'assistance' was more in spirit than in practice until she finished eating. "Did Buffy indicate _why_ the SGC was so interested in the Mutari Generator?"

Shrugging, Dawn struggled to keep her sandwich together. The salty tang of the anchovies made everything else taste better, but they did tend to make sandwich eating a messy experience. "The First is building a portal of some kind. Our intel group has been picking up hints about it for awhile now. Rumor has it that it plans to take over all the alternate universes once it can openly rule here. It has the original device in its possession, but when Angel used it on Illyria it must have burned out. Without your documents, the First's scientists have had to reverse-engineer the entire thing, from what we understand. Word is that it wants to build something like Buffy's 'Quantum Mirror' to move armies led by slayers to alternate Earths. Since it doesn't know about the _real_ Quantum Mirror it's using the Mutari Device as the basis for its research."

Giles hummed and hawed, and Dawn couldn't help but smile in contented remembrance when he took off his glasses to clean the lenses. This was probably the first time he'd ever done it when they'd actually _needed _cleaning. "My rather limited understanding of the Mutari Device suggests that it does, indeed, open a portal to an alternate universe, rather than the standard pocket-universe such as Pylea. A God-king such as Illyria is so powerful that the energy being dissipated in order to contain her would be enough to disrupt the entire local portal system should it simply be drained into one of the pocket universes. To clarify, Pylea was, indeed, an alternate _Earth_. However, everything beyond the scope of human influence was the same as that shared by a multitude of other, similar, pocket universes. The stars and planets visible from Pylea are exactly the same as those we see in our own night sky. The Mutari Device accesses an _entirely different universe_, which possess its own unique physical laws, and its own unique sky. Just as does Buffy's 'Quantum Mirror.'

"If the First intends to conquer alternate versions of Earth, the Mutari Device is precisely the _wrong_ model to use as a template. The 'pocket universes' accessible through a conventional mystical portal would provide a far simpler and more efficient method of conquering alien worlds. The laws governing true alternate _universes_ more often than not are incompatible with our form of life. Granted, many are perfectly habitable, as we have discovered by Buffy and her team being able to cross over to our universe without physiological damage. However, given the complexity of the operating principle, versus the extensive information available on accessing pocket universes, it seems a needlessly complicated method of achieving its objectives."

Dawn had to admit that the First wasn't one to over-complicate matters. "So why would it use something more complex?"

He shrugged. "There are several reasons I can think of offhand, one being that there are far more alternate universes than there are pocket universes. Also, these pocket universes only contain a single planet, that being their own version of Earth. If the First is more ambitious, it may know that, unlike ourselves, people in other universes, such as the SGC, have access to interstellar transport. If it seeks a true interstellar empire, the First could not use any of the other available options. I am open to suggestions as to _why_ it would desire such an empire."

They would both have to think about it, but in the meantime provide their new allies with the information they required. Like the Scoobies, Giles was reluctant to trust the military, but they had no choice. Plus, Buffy had requested the information, and he found it impossible to deny her anything, no matter his reservations. It also helped that Xander had vouched for the people from the alternate universe. It was possible that Buffy was under some kind of compulsion, but there had been no time for Xander to be afflicted similarly. On these matters, Giles tended to defer to Xander's judgment. For all his many faults, Xander had generally proven to be an excellent judge of character.

Except, Giles had to admit, he wasn't showing much sense when it came to responding to accusations regarding the tactics being blamed on his group. Even across the Pond, the news was filled with images of the terror campaign being waged by these Ronin of theirs. Not for even one seconds did Giles believe that either Xander or Dawn were behind the bombings being credited to the Ronin. But it had been foolish of them to set themselves up so that they _could_ be blamed for the savage violence and destruction. The First was using them as an excuse for its own incessant grab for power, and it was succeeding. Giles was trying to think of some way to bring up the subject delicately. He was discovering there really was no easy way to ask if Dawn had really become an actual _terrorist_. Given that she knew what she was actually facing, he wasn't certain just how far she was prepared to go in her efforts to oppose the First. "So these, ah, _Ronin_, of yours. They are… under control, yes?"

Smirking just a bit, knowing he was uncomfortable and letting him stew in it for a few seconds, Dawn finally scowled at him and answered the implied question. "Yes, they are 'under control.' No, they haven't done any of the stuff the First is blaming on us. You should know that if we did do any of that stuff the girls would go mental. I wonder what happens to the girls the First is having do crap like blow up day-care centers? Faith went nuts after _accidentally_ killing someone. Deliberately going out and slaughtering kids must really send them off the deep end."

Normally, Giles would have simply grunted non-committally. But Dawn was, next to himself, the only other 'Watcher' left alive, and she needed to know. "That is not entirely true. There are psychological techniques which can be used to de-sensitize a slayer, make her truly believe that those she is killing are 'subhuman,' or otherwise exempt from the normal consideration due another human being. As you probably expect, such techniques have been repeatedly perverted for the most despicable reasons throughout history. In the hands of an unscrupulous mentor, the slayer can be –and _has been_—used as an assassin, a thief, or been persuaded to participate in other criminal activities if she can be sufficiently swayed by her mentors duplicitous deceits. This is one of the reasons governments and kings agreed to let the Watchers Council provide exclusive guidance to the slayer nearly a thousand years ago. Since none of them could trust each other not to manipulate the slayer, an independent organization was the only feasible alternative.

"It says something about Faith's strength of will that she was not able to subconsciously accept the Mayor's efforts to persuade her that she was not responsible for her actions. Many people, with far less excuse, have been able to delude themselves into believing that they are exempt from culpability due to their actions being 'for the greater good,' or their opponents being dehumanized to the point where their lives mean nothing. For example, during the Crusades…" He stopped when he saw that this was something Dawn did not wish to know. Since it was something he wished he himself did not know, he decided to spare her the details.

Having already suspected something like that was possible, Dawn simply nodded. "It must wear off eventually. You can't live in a continuous state of self-delusion forever." After a short pause, she looked up at Giles. "At least, I would hope so."

"You'd be surprised." Giles looked frustrated and bitter as he saw where his protégé was going with this line of questioning. "If you are referring to Willow, I would expect that the First will keep her in a psychological state where the delusion is constantly reinforced. It usually takes some sort of triggering mechanism to shatter the delusion. Given her power and likely reaction should she realize she is being manipulated, I expect the First will have gone to considerable effort to ensure that no such 'trigger' event is possible with Willow. Although, of course, there is no way to know precisely what might act as such a 'trigger.' It could be almost anything, which is why positive reinforcement is constantly required. For example, I have no idea what got through to Faith, and made it impossible for her to believe the Mayor's lies any longer."

Giving him a wry, chagrined smile, Dawn shrugged before answering. "Buffy didn't buy it. Faith loved Buffy. If Buffy said the Mayor was lying to her, Faith would believe her, no matter how much she didn't want to."

Eyes opening wide in shock at the revelation, Giles wondered why he hadn't seen if from the start. Or perhaps he had. He'd gone to considerable effort to stay out of Buffy's love life. Knowing how brutal and short her life was likely to be, he saw no justification for imposing his or society's prudish attitudes on her. So long as it did not interfere with her duties, he saw no reason for her not to find what comfort she could, in the short time she would have available to do so. At the time Faith had arrived in Sunnydale, Buffy had still been involved with Angel, with all the emotional intensity only youths undergoing their first great romance could experience. Had Faith developed feelings for her at that time, they were unlikely to have been reciprocated to the degree Faith would have desired.

Giles was uncomfortably aware that he was at least partially responsible for Faith's turning to evil. In retrospect, it was obvious that he had neglected to give the troubled girl the attention she had desperately needed. At the time he hadn't wanted to bond with her, knowing how much more difficult it would make things for her own Watcher once one was reassigned. But with both him --the parental figure-- and Buffy --her first genuine romantic crush-- turning from her, it was really no surprise that she would turn to someone who _did_ give her the affection she so desperately sought. It wouldn't have taken much for them to have 'saved' Faith. But they hadn't, and tragedy had ensued.

Sighing, Giles looked over at Dawn. "I see. This would explain why she turned against the First so quickly, and with such passionate intensity, once she suspected it wasn't truly Buffy. To see someone you loved taken over by the spirit of the enemy who killed her must have been devastating. Does she know that the real Buffy is still alive?"

Apparently Dawn found something amusing in his question, because she gave the most genuine smile she had shown since she arrived, obviously savoring a favored memory, before finally responding. "She's the one who met with Buffy when she came through. I was away in California. Which still pisses me off, by the way! My sister is _alive_, and I don't even get to meet her. We've exchanged a few letters, but it's not the same. But, anyway, Faith met her, and Xander say's they were like they always were when they got together: one part competitiveness, one part lust. Buffy even admitted that she and Faith's counterpart in the other universe have gotten together. Apparently that caught everyone by surprise, even the people who came through with her."

Giles had to raise his eyebrows in surprise at that revelation. "How did Faith react to this news? Was she jealous?"

"Not really. Buffy had rescued her counterpart from what was apparently a pretty horrible situation, and Faith seemed relieved that at least one version of her might have a chance for a better life. I'm sure she probably wishes it was her instead of 'another her,' but she's dealing with it."

Giles grunted non-committally. In this instance, he saw no reason to burden Dawn with his own thoughts. When she first arrived in Sunnydale, Giles had created a psychological profile on Faith, and verified it against the Council's own reports. Both versions agreed with his assessment that the horrors of her childhood would likely prevent Faith from _ever_ being able to maintain a sound, sustainable intimate relationship with another person. Her own traumatic experiences would have convinced her that other people could not be trusted. They were only interested in sex, or exploiting her, and in the end they would _always_ betray her. The primary reason Giles hadn't wanted to bond with Faith was because if he had begun to work on her psychological issues, and begun to earn her trust, she would see it as only one more betrayal when he inevitably was forced to turn her over to another Watcher.

Looking back, he had noted her interest in Buffy, but had labeled it as just another aspect of her underlying psychosis. She had been sexually aggressive towards _everyone, _and he hadn't believed that her particular interest in Buffy was due to an actual romantic attraction. Buffy had friends, and a mother who loved her, and a real family, and a home and school and her own Watcher. He had assumed that Faith had been obsessed with Buffy not because she 'loved' Buffy but because she wanted to _be_ Buffy. _She_ wanted the home and the friends and the mom and the Watcher. Undoubtedly there had been a certain degree of attraction involved as well, for Faith was by nature an extremely sensual person. Buffy had been a very attractive young woman, and it would have been simple for Faith to delude herself into thinking that her desire to _have_ Buffy's life was due to her desire to be a _part_ of Buffy's life.

Despite what he had told Dawn, Giles hadn't been surprised when Faith turned against the First before anyone else even suspected what they were dealing with. Naturally she would turn against 'Buffy' if she did not return her feelings. And if she suspected that she wasn't dealing with the 'real' Buffy, her anger would swiftly transform into rage. His profile had suggested that her obsession with Buffy would only increase with Buffy's death. Faith would undoubtedly realize, if only subconsciously, her own inability to maintain a healthy relationship, and would undoubtedly be bothered by the knowledge. If, however, she could convince herself that this aspect of her personality was not due to psychological trauma and lack of trust, but due to the death of her One True Love, Faith would be freed from the need to justify her habit of breaking off every relationship she ever had once it reached a stage where trust was required.

How would she react to Buffy coming back from the dead? Very easily, apparently. She could hardly object to Buffy being involved with someone when it was, in a roundabout fashion, _with her_. In a strange way she might even find it comforting. She could continue to comfort herself with the delusion that she actually was involved in a healthy relationship, only at second hand, so to speak. As such, she could continue with her present lifestyle, refusing to make an emotional commitment, semi-content with the delusion that she was, in fact, actually capable of loving someone else, and therefore no longer needed to prove to herself that she _could _by going to all the effort of actually doing so.

Or, equally likely, he thought with a chagrined smile, Rupert Giles was the deluded one, speculating out of his over-educated ass, and Faith was perfectly content with the choices she had made, happy with the limited relationships she had permitted herself. He, after all, had been willing to give up a decade of his life and any possible relationship in order to be Buffy's Watcher. He didn't regret that decision for a second. It was just as possible Faith had made a similar choice, and reached a similar conclusion; that whatever she had shared with Buffy had been more important to her than any other relationship she might ever enter into.

The entire thought chain having come and gone in seconds, Giles smiled over at Dawn, almost giddy with pleasure at her presence. An hour earlier he had been a washed-up, defeated old drunk. Already he could feel himself come back to life, his expertise needed, his formidable intellect challenged. But he could never let himself forget that this wasn't about _him_. He was only the Watcher. It was the _girls_ who had to face their enemies in person, who had to fight, and who had to die. All he could do was support them. Sometimes, 'supporting' them simply meant expressing concern. In his experience, very few slayers had someone to turn to who actually cared whether they lived or died. Faith hadn't. Very few of the multitude of slayers out there did. Perhaps that was why so many of them were attracted to the false 'family' the First provided them. That was a situation Dawn would need to address. One _he_ would need to address. "I know that she is a very private person, but if Faith wants someone to talk to, I am available. I promise complete discretion. If she does not wish to talk about herself, we can spend the entire time talking about Buffy."

It was the right thing to say. Probably because he actually meant every word of it, and Dawn knew it. He could see the difference in her eyes, the gentle, affectionate glow she had once bestowed upon him finally restored, her anger and bitterness finally put aside. He knew better than to think he had been forgiven. But now, at least, he knew forgiveness was _possible_. "She's okay, Giles. Better than okay. Somehow, this has been the catalyst I've spent years trying to find to make Faith truly part of the Ronin. Until this came up she never really fit in with them. Part of it was that idiot Andrew telling everyone she had been 'seduced by the Dark side of the Force.' The girls _respected_ her, but they all just kept waiting for her to wake up one day wearing a breathing mask and sounding like James Earl Jones."

She smiled, and it was such a beautiful smile Giles had to blink to hold back his tears. He had missed this so much. He had missed _his children_ so much. But saying that would only embarrass her, so he simple remained silent and listened to her speak of her friends. He was just so grateful that she had such friends, when he hadn't been available for her. "Faith is in charge of the Ronin, but China is her Field Commander. Either Grace or China run the majority of their missions. China is the only one who has actually bonded at all to Faith, and after the meeting with Buffy she didn't say much. I wasn't sure if there was an issue with her or not, like maybe she was jealous, but I am pleased to say I underestimated her. She was just waiting until we got the psychic inhibitor devices for the rest of the girls. China is too good a tactician to take a chance on letting the First know that Buffy is still alive, so she was just biding her time.

"It took a couple of months until everyone had their own Mind Shield. Buffy couldn't provide enough for everyone, but she did provide us detailed plans for making them, and Andrew and his crew have been working around the clock setting up a production line. You'd be amazed at how many governments and industries were willing to donate the equipment if they got their own devices once we had made enough for ourselves. We had a bit of a party to celebrate once everyone was protected, and we could finally talk freely without the First overhearing. It was the first time China had been able to tell everyone what actually happened at the meeting, about Buffy still being alive and supporting us. But instead of just _telling_ people, she really milked it, turning it into this star-crossed romantic reunion between Buffy and Faith, with all sorts of 'looking into each others' eyes' and touchy-feely stuff. Naturally Faith got all offended, so of course China took that as her signal to _really_ start teasing her.

"Buffy has been sending through books and tapes showing this '_parkour_' training system they use where she is, and the slayers just love it. Since she only has one hand, Faith isn't as good at it as China, and so there they were, China running around, scaling buildings and trees, singing '_Faith and Buffy, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g…_' at the top of her lungs, laughing her ass off as Faith is trying to chase her, screaming with rage, the rest of the girls practically wetting themselves they're laughing so hard…" When Dawn looked up at Giles, her eyes were shining with unshed tears of happiness. "For a few days afterwards Faith couldn't go anywhere without the girls making '_kissy-kissy_' noises, or finding other ways to tease her. Until then, nobody had _ever_ teased Faith. They were too afraid of her. But Faith became one of the Ronin that night. Not just their _leader_, but actually one of their _own_. After all this time, she's got her own family now. She pretends not to like it, but you'd need dynamite to take her away from them. Those are _her_ girls now, and she takes care of them."

She smiled, obviously extremely proud of her people. "In addition to the parkour thing, Buffy has been sending us little ray-guns called 'zats.' We can use them to knock people out without killing them. They are not as effective against supernatural creatures, but really quick and effective against regular humans. So we've got new tactics, new weapons, new allies… and new _hope_. Until now we've just been twiddling our thumbs, watching, collecting information. But now the girls are more confident in themselves, their training, their leaders, and they want something to do."

When she sighed, it was with an exhausted frustration. "I needed the information on the Mutari Generator you provided, but the _real_ reason I came here is because I need some advice. I need something for the Ronin to do. Something challenging and worthy of their talents, but not something that will force the First to squash us like bugs. Something useful, but not something they'll get killed doing. I'm really looking for some _ideas_, Giles. I'm really good at collecting information, at putting it together. But I'm not really a leader, not in the way these girls need. I wish Buffy could stay here, but she can't. Something about the two of them can't be in the same universe. I really like Faith, but she is _not_ the person you want running your strategy. They are all good fighters, but not so good with coming up with an effective campaign which requires a bit more delicacy than simply going out and hacking their enemies to pieces. None of them are real 'big picture' types. That pretty much leaves me, and I don't know what to do."

Looking over at her mentor with almost pleading eyes, she was caught by surprise when Giles reached over and gently squeezed her hand. "I am very, very proud of you. Proud of what you have accomplished. Proud of the way you've handled yourself and the situation." She tried to make a '_Golly, twern't nuthin_' gesture, but Giles could tell how pleased she was by his compliments. He was truly sorry his next words would hurt her so much. "But you are making the same mistake every prospective Watcher has been warned against making for centuries. Simply put; you are trying to accomplish your mission without risking your slayer, which _cannot be done_. We –and I include you in that 'we,' since you are one of us now, whether you like it or not—are, in reality, some of the most horrible people ever to set foot on this poor world. Into our care is placed a wonderful, enthusiastic, exceptionally gifted, and horrifyingly innocent young woman, and we are charged with sending her out, night after night, to risk her life fighting monsters beyond the ken of most of humanity.

"How can we do something so disgraceful?! Who are we to send this precocious young women out to die?! What gives us the right to do something so contemptible?! How can we bear to look at ourselves in the mirror?!"

Staring at her closely, Giles waited until he saw the understanding in her eyes, before continuing. "We do it _because we must_! Because the alternative is a million times worse. Because the 'law of the jungle' is, in the end, the only _true_ law. Unethical, amoral, offensive to the conscience, perhaps. But unassailable. It cannot be argued with, persuaded through logic, negotiated with over tea. Some things are beyond our human customs, our civilized traditions. The Law of the Jungle will out, no matter what we say or do. This being the case, we must respond likewise, or we shall perish. One or the other. There is no alternative. Not against the sort of enemies we face.

"For more than seven thousand years our racial response has been to let the slayer fight the battle for us. Partly so that we may hide from it, pretend it doesn't exist. But mostly because she _can_! After seven thousand years we have built a mighty civilization, _because the slayer has allowed us to do so_! Without her, the demons and monsters in the shadows would have long since defeated us. Without her, the Law of the Jungle would reign supreme, everywhere, for everyone. Without her, _civilization itself would not be possible_!

"We owe the slayers more than we can ever repay, but we, as Watchers, owe the vast multitudes who count on her for their protection even _more. They_ are our employers. Look into the eyes of their children, and know why we do what we do. _We keep the jungle at bay! _We make civilization --with its laws and political niceties and manners beyond the simple blunt truth of 'might makes right'—actually _possible_! What we do isn't pretty, but what we make _possible can_ be. Enough so, that we can look in the mirror after we send a wonderful young woman out to face what might prove to be a brutal, horrifying death."

He squeezed her hand again, this time almost hard enough to hurt. She barely even noticed. "You can _never _'save' your slayer. _Never_! You can delay the inevitable, if you're smart enough, if you've trained her well enough. But you cannot _save_ her. From the moment she is Called, her end is _inevitable_. And that is the way it _must be! _

"You cannot _refuse_ to risk your slayer! Oh, naturally you cannot take _foolish_ risks, but you must realize that everything to do with a slayer involves risk of some sort. Much of the time, this involves the risk of death. But if you refuse to let your slayer face such risks, then you have already lost. Civilization has lost. The human race has lost. Being a Watcher is the loneliest, worst job there is. But it is also the most inspiring, most important, and greatest thing you will ever do! Even Generals fighting the most bloody battles do not have such a personal relationship with those they send off to die as do we. But we do it anyway, _because we must_! If you _can't_, then step aside. Place the burden into the hands of someone not as smart, not as capable… but someone who _dares to actually fight_! The slayer is the apex warrior of our kind. She is the greatest fighting machine a human being is capable of becoming. But she can do _nothing_ if her Watcher refuses to _let her fight_!"

For long seconds Dawn was silent, absorbing his words. She understood what he was saying, even understood what he _meant_, but was uncertain if she could do what he was demanding. Just the thought of actually sending out one of her girls –one of her _friends_—on a mission which might cost her her life, was unbearable. But it did give her some insight into Giles. She had never understood how he could have conspired to force Buffy into the _Cruciamentum_. Not for one second did she doubt his love for her sister. But in the end, he was a _Watcher_. And to a Watcher, the slayer was a tool to be _used_. That didn't make him evil, or even _wrong_, but so far as she was concerned it didn't mean he was _right_ either. She had to admit it was true that she was holding the Ronin back. But she did not intend to _use_ them as if they were mere tools either. If civilization fell because of it, then civilization could just kiss her ass.

When she looked up into Giles' face, her eyes were hard. No longer the student, seeking approval from her mentor. This time she was an equal, conveying her decision to a colleague. "There are nearly two hundred slayers with the Ronin. The First has more than a thousand. I am _not_ getting them involved in a war we can't win."

He sighed. Watchers were trained from infancy. _Indoctrinated_ from infancy. Now he knew why. "That isn't what I meant, Dawn. They are _slayers_. Let them _slay_! The First is using demon clans and vampires against those governments and corporations which oppose it. Once these entities feel they require slayers to protect them from the supernatural enemies which the First itself is using against them, she has them by the throat. Fight _them_! If you can't oppose the First directly, do so _indirectly_! Pick your battles, but don't refuse to fight even when the odds are not as good as you might wish. Dawn, I cannot stress this enough: you _must_ permit the slayers to fight. Because if you don't, you will rather quickly lose control of them."

At his protégé's look of confusion he wiped his face with an unsteady hand before continuing. "I was blessed with a truly exceptional slayer. The Council never understood her, because she didn't act the way they felt a slayer should behave, but I knew what had been placed in my care. I could only go by the old records, but it was soon apparent to me that Buffy was the sort of slayer who came around only once in a _millennium_. Given the number of slayers you have now seen on your own, this must be even more obvious to you."

Nodding slowly, Dawn admitted it. "We've found two really good ones. The rest… not so much."

Giles looked surprised "Two 'really' good ones out of nearly two hundred is actually quite respectable, Dawn. However, I expect you are discovering that the remainder are competitive, status-conscious to a fault, and aggressive in striving for dominance amongst their internal hierarchy?" He didn't even have to wait for her reluctant nod of agreement. "It will only get worse if you don't let them release their natural aggression by permitting them to act like _slayers_. This has been hard-coded into their personalities, a part of the creation spell itself. If they don't fight our _enemies_, they will eventually turn on their _friends_. Their nature will out, and should you resist that call out of an otherwise commendable desire to limit casualties amongst them, you will inadvertently create an even worse situation. Kennedy wasn't the exception, Dawn. If you don't let them loose, you will eventually find yourself with two hundred more just like her."

Closing her eyes for a moment to hide herself from Giles, Dawn struggled to come to terms with what he was implying. No, what he was flat-out _stating_. Although she wanted to argue, she already knew he was probably right. She'd noticed it herself, the ever increasing cliquishness among the girls as more of them arrived. They'd been able to keep it under control due to having a leadership team in place that not only brooked no infighting, but was generally respected even by those being disciplined. The real stumbling block had been Dawn herself. Training was all well and good, but the slayers wanted a _real_ enemy to fight. By preventing them, even out of concern over the possibility of starting a war with the First, she was inadvertently breaking the very army she was trying to build. If she didn't do something about it, by the time Buffy returned there wouldn't be any Ronin left for her to use.

All it took was a single, quick nod, and Giles knew he'd 'won' the argument. In truth, he was just as unhappy about it as she was. No matter the reason or justification, sending young girls out to die was not something either wanted to become comfortable doing. But since it was a reality they could not control, there was no point in not getting something useful out of it. "None of the demon clans would enter into an arrangement with the First without an iron-clad contract. I mean that quite literally: the contract will be bound in iron. All services and expectations will be spelled out, usually in blood. If you ever wondered why Wolfram & Hart had offices in most major cities, wonder no more. At least some of those contracts will have loopholes we can exploit. There are legal scholars I can contact in order to investigate this. Meanwhile, no matter who is behind their actions, it is still usually demons and vampires actually attacking humans. I would suggest that we put your girls to work opposing _them_…"

----

In a remote corner of the Slayers Inc. compound outside of Cleveland was an isolated building off-limits to all but Buffy Summers and a small caretaking staff. It was known as the Retreat, a place where Buffy could have some privacy to meditate and seek solace from the crushing burdens society had placed on her slender shoulders. A world-famous architect had been hired to design the building, and instructed to come up with something resembling a church, with plenty of stained glass, open space, and a high vaulted ceiling. Although none of the slayers were normally permitted to enter the building, its designs and photographs were on the Web, and every so often it was opened for public viewing.

When 'Buffy' entered the building she was immediately calmed and enervated by the atmosphere within. There was a lot of stress running a company as diverse as Slayers Inc. It was irrelevant that the majority of that stress came from the necessity of restraining herself from exploding in lethal rage when some idiot disrupted her plans through incompetence, or due to the deliberate interference of her 'beloved sister' and her gang of do-gooders. Even for a god, the manipulations of entire governments her plans required called for considerable effort, so it was a relief when she was able to escape to the sanctuary of her Retreat. Lately one problem in particular had been requiring her attention. The suddenly not-so-minor matter of Faith having been photographed, apparently alive, if slightly the worse for wear having 'misplaced' her arm some time ago. It was rather interesting that she was walking around, when all of the First's senses were unable to detect her. How this could be so was causing it some considerable concern. But it was a concern she would address later. This was its time to relax.

Within the Retreat was a spectacularly beautiful interior. The images laid out in stained glass did not have a religious motif, instead depicting animals and flowers or pastoral landscapes. The sharp-cut facets reflected light into prismatic bands throughout the vast expanse of the single room which made up the ground floor of the building. The floor was hardwood, inlaid with marble, echoing loudly as the First's high-heeled shoes marched deeper into the interior. It wasn't the aesthetic serenity of the room which made the First take a deep breath and relax, however. There was another aspect to the Retreat, one not present when visitors were permitted inside, which energized her and worked as a balm to ease the First's burdened psyche. That relief came from a different source.

Along the walls, mats were laid out on the floor for 106 girls and young women, who were on their knees bowing in submission as the awareness that their God was present entered their consciousness. Many were crying, most mumbling in their ecstasy, some banging their heads on the floor in submission. All were naked, except for diapers, their hair long and ratty, their stench barely restrained by forced-air ventilating to ducts on the roof. All of them were slayers. All of them were completely insane.

A god without worshippers wasn't a God. They might be, at best, listed amongst the 'former deities' in a book perhaps. Being worshipped wasn't simply a requirement for a God; it was a _necessity_. The First had always maintained at least a few mortal acolytes, but to a God, just as to most humans, the equation was simple: 'More equals Better.' The more mortals who worshipped any given God, the more power that God gained through their worship. That fact, as well as the fact that slayers who carried out actions against normal humans tended to go insane sooner or later, had led the First to kill two birds with one stone. Once a slayer had gone too far down the road into the depths of insanity and depravity to be allowed to roam free, the First took her to the Retreat, where she methodically broke what remained of her mind through applications of pain and psychological manipulation.

It wasn't that hard. The girl knew she'd done wrong, or she wouldn't have gone crazy worrying about it in the first place. So the First entered her mind under the guise of a loved one –usually, but not always, the mother—to express how disappointed she was. Usually the subject tried to defend herself, justify her behavior, so the 'mother' image turned up the heat. Expressed how sorry she was for ever having given birth to such a monster. How pathetic and useless and disgusting she was. How she wished the girl was dead. By then they had been reduced to emotionally traumatized, sobbing wrecks, so that was the point the First used the image of an authority figure –usually, but not always, the father—and 'punished' her for her actions via the most violent, debasing, degrading rape the First's quite vivid imagination could come up with. It helped if the 'loved one' figure observed, and emphasized how this was deserved, that she had brought this on herself. Already mentally unstable, they soon broke down completely. Occasionally the First got a bit carried away with its fantasies and the girl didn't survive the experience. But there were always more, and even those who didn't make it provided their own source of temporary amusement.

Those who did live through the experience were broken, body and mind. It was then that the First could really work on what remained. Could shape what was left of their minds in its own image, twisting and molding it like clay. What remained afterwards wasn't entirely human. It was a _worshipper_, something vaguely human-shaped, but which existed only to bask in the glory of its personal God.

Nothing else mattered to such a worshipper. It could not feed itself, or walk, or go to the bathroom. Specially-selected caretakers fed them by hand, changed their diapers occasionally, hosed them down every so often. They didn't last too long --six months was about average-- before they finally starved or died of an aneurism or some other disease their weakened bodies couldn't throw off. But there were always replacements. Enough that when combined with the intensity of their devotion they were able to 'power up' the First in ways that ten thousand less-fanatically zealous followers could not have managed. She actually began to 'glow' with the spiritual energy being directed towards her, and basked in the radiance of such passionate devotion. Had the First not had greater ambitions, the sheer exultation of drenching herself in such worship might have been enough. The joy, the sheer splendor in being worshipped was almost narcotic. Until it had achieved corporeality the First had never experienced the equivalent of sex, but now that it had, it could conclusively state that this was better.

The problem was that the First was pathologically narcisstic, and continually wanted more of everything, including sensations. It had quickly become bored with conventional sex and graduated to ever more extreme forms to maintain its interest. If being worshipped by one hundred monomaniacally obsessed adherents was pleasurable, how much _more_ pleasure would it get from a _thousand_ adherents? A _million_? No matter how many there were, sooner or later it wouldn't be enough. The First understood its own nature. Better to change space and time back to a form it found more comforting than be continually disappointed with ever-encroaching boredom.

As for the effect the change it sought to enact would have on others, that was of no more interest than the effect its psychological manipulations had had on its worshippers. They were irrelevant. Mere tools to be used. Their lives were meaningless. _They_ were meaningless. A means to an end.

Nothing more.

Basking in the glow of their worshipful devotion, the First was almost content. But it already knew the euphoria wouldn't last.

It never did.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15 

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

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**Return To Normal**

**-- **

**Chapter Fifteen**

**-- **

Exerting a monumental effort not to forcefully smash his head into the desktop, Major General George Hammond sat stiffly in place as the 24-hour News channel showed video as agents of the Denver Police Department's Juvenile Division escorted the young woman from the popular local nightclub. Her hands were cuffed behind her back, thrusting forward an impressive chest which was already being prominently displayed in a white cotton t-shirt. She was extraordinarily attractive –almost predatorily sensual—and it was readily apparent that she was _extremely_ unhappy. The flashing brown eyes and sensually-darkened lips, even snarling in rage, combined with wild brunette hair to bypass the cognitive functions of every observing male and make them automatically think '_She'd be a wildcat in bed_!' A huge throng had gathered to observe, and media representatives were shouting questions:

"Miss Lehane, are you Buffy Summers' _lover_?!"

"How did you meet the Slayer?"

"My name is Joe Francis and I'll pay you $50,000 and $2 per video if you'll sign up with Girls Gone Wi…" His voice suddenly turned into a high-pitched squeak as a woman in the crowd kneed him in the crotch, and a scuffle broke out as onlookers cheered.

Ten weeks had passed since Major Davis had given his warning that the Asgard had been secretly meeting with EU representatives. The SGC had been frantically trying to contact them ever since, to no avail. There were hints of a shielded Asgard ship in earth orbit, but if it was there at all it wasn't responding to hails. And now this…

Not that long ago Buffy had been hailed as a Superhero who had saved the President from an alien monster. But starting about a month earlier, and with increasing virulence, the media had begun to turn against her. Leaked stories, without any sources being named, claimed she was 'difficult to work with' and 'arrogant.' It was SGC policy not to comment on anonymous stories, but the more Buffy felt she was being 'attacked' by the media without anyone defending her, the more she pulled inward, establishing psychological barriers to protect herself from the frustrated anger.

Naturally, the more she cut herself off, the more she was attacked by bloggers and the media who felt that she was acting like a prima-donna, refusing to cooperate with the government or the military because she considered herself to be more important than either. As had become normal, the bloggers acted as a stalking-horse for the pundits within the traditional media, who self-righteously claimed they were only bringing up the matter because it was a 'controversy' within the blogosphere. A bad situation was primed for explosion when a particularly notorious –but very well-trafficked—site posted a message, complete with java-script rotating police lights, informing readers that Buffy Summers had been having an affair with a bartender in Denver… an underage, _female_ bartender.

Within the space of an hour it became a media circus. Hammond was furious. After their return from the initial meeting with her friends in the alternate reality, O'Neill had very quietly informed him that Buffy had told one of their contacts that she had been having a sexual relationship with her counterpart in this reality. The SGC had even more quietly initiated an investigation, which was made easier as Lieutenant Forrest sent through frequent reports giving them further background data on the Slayer, her history and Watcher analysis. Reports which included the name 'Faith Lehane.' They had been horrified to discover that her counterpart in Denver was using a false ID and was actually only seventeen years old. Since then, they had been putting a lot of time and brainpower into considering their options. Unfortunately, the story had leaked before they could come to any conclusions. The fact that it had been leaked was almost as terrifying as the position it placed them in.

Fortunately Buffy was distracted by some off-site training –this time joining up with a Jaffa commando team for Escape & Evasion tactics being taught by a Special Forces team from down at Fort Carson-- so Hammond was able to call in his command team without her being involved. The various man and women filing into the meeting room fell silent and quickly took their places when they noticed his grave expression. Without saying a word, Hammond brought up the web site on the main video screen. Various iterations of "_Oh, boy_…" could be heard as those in the group who didn't already know about it read the article. The General almost smiled in grim amusement as his team quickly realized the implications. "We have two problems here, ladies and gentlemen. The first, obviously, is how this will impact Miss Summers and her mission. The Press will be all over this and I will undoubtedly have to make a statement. Fortunately Buffy is out of their reach while on base, and I want it kept that way for as long as possible.

"The second problem is that this information could only come from the SGC. I want to know who leaked this, and I want him nailed to a cross. Am I understood?"

Although he never once raised his voice, everyone around the table silently winced, and tried not to meet his eyes. Finally, as he was wont to do, O'Neill took the bull by the horns. "Chances are it's not a 'leak' in the traditional sense, General. Our people know how to keep their mouths shut. But a _lot_ of people know about this, and may have said it to someone with the security clearance to know about it, who told a politician who was cleared to know, who of course blabbed. Or, to be honest, Buffy herself may have said something. She didn't exactly hide it from us, and might not realize just how badly this will go down."

Someone at the other end of the table raised her eyes in amazement. "She had an _affair_ with an _underage girl_! How could she _not_ know 'how it would go down' if it ever got out?!"

Jack smiled without amusement. "Even though she's younger than Buffy, this 'Faith' chick has quite a bit more in the way of sexual experience. Buffy may have assumed the age thing wouldn't matter under those circumstances. As for the girl thing, well, Buffy told us it doesn't count as being 'gay' if the other girl is '_like, really_, really _hot_!' This is apparently referred to as 'The Angelina Jolie Rule.'" Noticing the looks on his colleagues faces, O'Neill raised his hands indignantly. "Hey, _I_ didn't make it up! Talk to _her_!"

The head of the staff Psychology Unit sighed just a bit theatrically, knowing they would be looking to him for answers, and not having any good ones. "It might have been easier had we treated Miss Summers like an alien from the get-go. She's from _California_, after all. An _alternate_ California which is even more liberal, so far as we can determine, than our own version. From our perspective some of their beliefs and attitudes might seem shocking, but so far as she is concerned are completely natural within the context of her own environment. Just from her easy acceptance of Miss Rosenberg's relationship it was obvious that she has very little cultural bias against homosexuality. It's not really surprising that when she ran into a woman she found sexually attractive she would not be overly reluctant to experiment. I don't think she is really 'gay.' Her reaction to Captain Finn suggests otherwise. But let's face it; given Miss Summers' attitude towards same-sex relationships, and her natural tendency to embrace the melodramatic, what happened should not come as a surprise. We've all seen the pictures. By any measure, Miss Lehane is an extraordinarily attractive young woman."

Every man in the room was very careful to maintain a blank expression. '_Extraordinarily attractive_' didn't begin to cover it. The girl positively oozed sexuality from her very pores. In a world where a single photograph of an attractive female could be spread world-wide with the instantaneous speed possible only to basement-dwelling virginal internet dweebs actively searching for images of women they would never come close to in their entire lives, someone who looked like Faith would soon be an internet sensation of mind-boggling proportions. Hell, the way she had looked, even guys who had actually kissed an actual girl would be changing their computer wallpaper. She was that damned hot.

After clearing his throat, Hammond took up the discussion once again. "None the less, this will have a serious impact on public attitudes, not to mention the disposition of those who maintain political oversight over this Command. They'll want her to break it off, and I suspect that Buffy will instinctively dig in her heels and refuse, even if she had previously decided not to pursue the relationship. They are not going to tolerate such open defiance, especially after the recent brouhaha over her refusal to attend church on Sunday." There were a lot of churches in Colorado Springs. Religion was serious business locally, and the information that the Slayer did not attend church, and had no _intentions_ of attending church, had sent shock waves through the community. Her previous high standing among the public had turned on a dime with the revelation. It had, in fact, been the beginning of the radical change in attitude towards the Slayer.

It was only partly Finn's fault. Everyone had been shocked when the girl picked him out of the crowd, and had desperately wanted to know what they had talked about. They got lucky that Finn hadn't been an idiot. Knowing how his information might be received, the newcomer to the SGC hadn't told his friends about the most important part, waiting until he was alone with Colonel O'Neill before informing him that Buffy had bluntly informed him that she did not believe in God. Knowing how such a statement would be received should it ever get out, Jack had sworn the man to secrecy and brought the matter up with Hammond and the Psych people immediately. Unfortunately, Finn was a deeply religious man who felt compelled to discuss the matter with the staff padre, who just as quickly sent it up his own chain of command. There was no point in punishing Finn –indignant claims of religious jurisdiction to the contrary, the padre had betrayed Finn's confidence as much as he had Buffy's—but it didn't change the fact that the story hit the Senate floor and the front page of the Washington Post website within a few days.

The SGC had been compelled to release a statement indicating that where Buffy came from 'miracles' were so common that matters of faith were taken more for granted than they were in this universe. In her reality, people could see the power of a crucifix, or Holy Water, for themselves as they burnt the flesh of tainted beings such as vampires. No chemical test would show anything unusual in the materials of a Cross or in the water. The 'power of God' was so obvious they didn't _need_ an intermediary, such as a priest, to inspire it. She had never gone to church back in her reality, as she was able to see God's power in a very direct manner every single day.

It was a good explanation, and far more diplomatic than Buffy's emphatic refusal to attend simply because she saw no point in submitting herself to being lectured to by people who demonized her friends for loving each other. But for some people, the explanation actually made the situation even worse. She used the symbols of God as _tools_, weapons to be exploited, but not as instruments of faith. It seemed to them that the SGC was asking them to judge her according to her own cultural norms, but she appeared to be adamantly opposed to meeting them halfway by at least trying to understand _theirs_. It was only a matter of time before the truth about her mission to take down the First got out, and given the religious implications of that fight –and the weapon she intended to use to fight it—the public debate could only get louder and more raucous. Hammond had his own theories about who was behind this, and since Kinsey also knew about the First –as well as what little information the Asgard had provided regarding the Key—he suspected that it wouldn't be too long before the rest of the story got out.

Even within the SGC there was some debate about the mission, and concerns regarding the young woman leading it. As a military organization they were expected to carry out their orders, or resign if they found those orders to be morally offensive, so the mutterings had been fairly quiet so far. But Hammond didn't hire sheep, and until they were explicitly ordered to shut up no one on his command team was particularly reluctant to bring up a controversial subject. Normally Hammond kept his meetings down to ten or fewer people so it didn't descend into an argument, but in this case he had invited the leaders of every available Team and Department. With nearly three dozen people present –both men and women, military and civilian—it was no surprise that everyone had something to say, and wanted to say it.

Nodding towards the SG-13 team commander, Hammond let him go first. Lt. Colonel Ash Fenton could always be counted to shit-disturb. Once given orders he would carry them out as if there had never been any alternative option, but until then he seemed to take positive delight in tossing out every contrarian position he could imagine. "The fundamental issue is whether the First represents such a clear and present danger that we have no choice but to attack it immediately. So far, we've only got Miss Summers' word that this is true. Yes, the Asgard are backing her word –or at least they are telling the friggin' _Europeans_ they support her, although they're no longer bothering to talk to us-- but we don't really know if that is because they _know_ it represents such a threat, or because they simply accept Buffy's word that it is. I'm not denying that the First is probably dangerous, or that we won't have to do something about it _eventually_. But when the President says 'now isn't the time,' and we're being forced to do this only because Buffy is effectively _blackmailing_ us, I've got to say that I'm not really happy about all this. There have been times we've done things against orders because we had better information than that available to those giving us contrary instructions, but I'm not certain that's true in this case."

Another team commander glared at him. "She's not 'blackmailing' us…"

"You're damned right she is!" When Hammond didn't immediately slap Fenton down for his angry rejoinder, everyone knew that this was going to be one of those rare, and legendary, free-for-all sessions. They all sat up just a bit straighter. It wasn't often that even Hammond would let people really open up about how they truly felt. "It's pretty clear that if we don't do this, the Asgard will let Buffy do it anyway. They've already made it crystal clear that if we try to stop her, they'll stop _us_! And even if we don't actually try to stop her, but just decline to _help_ her, we're going to find ourselves pretty high up on their 'Shit List.' Don't tell me this is just about us helping out a cute chick out of the goodness of our hearts. This is all about whether we want to piss off the Asgard any more than they already are."

"Maybe so, but that's the _Asgard_ blackmailing us; not Miss Summers." Another voice interjected, probably just to get Fenton all worked up. "And it may not even be _them_. These 'Powers That Be' things scare the crap out of the Asgard, so the little grey guys might feel they have no choice but to do what these new players seem to want done. It bugs me that some people are blaming Buffy for this, when her orders are coming from way up the Ascended Chain of Command, and she has no more say in this than we do."

"Bullshit! She's an _American_, dammit! Until she renounces her citizenship, she is subject to the authority of the President. _He's_ the one elected to make these decisions, not her! All she has to do is tell these PTB things that she won't do it, and this ends right now!"

Jackson had been doing a lot of thinking about that since his session with Kinsey, so figured it was time he spoke up. Such was his reputation, and the respect he had earned within the SGC, that everyone immediately fell silent to listen to what he had to say. "She's a _civilian_. Nowhere in the Constitution does it say that a civilian is subject to the personal authority of the President. But that is neither here nor there. Buffy is _not_ going to tell anyone she won't do this. She _is _going to do it, one way or another. She _wants_ to do it, and more importantly she believes that it _must be done_! This is a girl used to making such decisions, regardless of any 'official' authority to do so. Even under normal circumstances we'd get nowhere insisting that she sit back and wait for someone else to make the call. But in this particular reality she has been _tortured by the State_, and regardless of the motives and intentions of those who allowed it to occur, in her eyes that revokes their right to tell her what to do. To her, they have demonstrated that they are quite simply no longer_ morally qualified_ to make such decisions. She has already decided that it's _her_ call, and she has already made it."

Fenton glared at him. "That doesn't mean _we_ have to…"

Interrupting, Jackson got back to the point he was trying to make. "Yes, it _does_. Forget the Asgard for a minute. Recall how Buffy was brought here. The Ancients made a deal with these 'Powers That Be' requiring a fundamental change to the natural physical laws of this entire universe, just to test Buffy against the Ori. The _Ori_! A race so powerful that even the _Ancients_ don't want to mess with them. But the Powers That Be considered them to be nothing but a warm-up, a test to determine if Buffy was ready for what _they_ consider to be the Main Event.

"A test, I need not remind anyone here, she passed with flying colors.

"This brings up two points. One: Buffy is really, _really_ good at this stuff. If, as you say, we're going to have to fight the First eventually anyway, why not do it while we have access to the one person two _extremely_ powerful Ascended races think is the best person for the job? But more importantly, these 'Powers That Be' have shown that they possess _immense_ power, _and the willingness to use it! _Since she has passed their test, I would suspect that the Ancients have pretty much agreed to give the Powers a free hand in this. If we annoy them, or if we do _anything_ to stop Buffy, I suspect they are more than prepared to punish us for interfering with their plans. _Harshly_. So Colonel Fenton is absolutely correct that we are being blackmailed. However, he is _incorrect_ in his assessment as to who is doing the blackmailing. He is also _absolutely_ incorrect in his assertion that we should _refuse_ to be blackmailed! As you all know from your own experience, when it comes to war, political niceties tend to fall by the wayside. The Powers That Be are _at war, _and if we try to get in their way, they have demonstrated that they are both willing and able to crush us like bugs. In this matter, the Ancients will step aside and let them do so if they feel it necessary. My professional judgment is that they will do precisely that if we don't do what they want."

There were more than a few nervous gulps at his words. After a few seconds to let it sink in, Hammond cleared his throat. He'd already been convinced by Dr. Jackson's lecture to Senator Kinsey. His contacts within NATO had kept him apprised as to the negotiations going on between the Asgard and the Europeans. The Asgard had been pretty clear that they were operating under very explicit instructions, and despite what some people were suggesting, he didn't think it was Buffy telling them what to do. If Dr. Jackson was correct –and he usually was—then immensely powerful Ascended races were taking a very personal interest in their actions. It was looking increasing likely that very significant changes would be in store for the StarGate project in the not-so-distant future. Which, to Hammond, was oddly liberating. Without having to worry about the future of his Command, he was able to consider risks which at any other time he would not have accepted, as they might cost him that Command. "Okay. Argument's over. We will proceed under the assumption that we _are_ going to do this. Our involvement no longer being at issue, the next item up for discussion is _how_ we intend to proceed. How much support do we provide Miss Summers, and where do the lines of authority fall between her, her people in the other reality, and our forces? Jack?"

Pausing to consider his words first, O'Neill struggled to put his thoughts into coherent sentences. "If we're gonna do it, we may as well do it right, sir. That means we go 'all in,' not holding anything back. Everyone here knows that my team and I have been working with Buffy on her plans. And make no mistake about it: this is _her_ operation. If we take part, _we_ will have to conform to _her_ operational requirements. Don't give me any whining about her being a _civilian_, and not understanding the _blah blah blah_. I've heard it all before. She knows the terrain, she knows the opposition force structure, she knows the enemy commander, she has more experience fighting frickin' _gods_ than any of us –well, _real_ one's, anyway-- and she's a goddamn _psychic_! We're teaching her a lot of tactical theory, but to be honest that won't help her much against an opponent like the First. Which is why a big part of what we're doing in these sessions is have Carter teach her how to fight an AI. Seriously. An _Artificial Intelligence_!

"The First, to all intents and purposes, is a _god_. Insanely powerful, insanely intelligent, and insanely insane. For a few years now there have been concerns that one of our exploration teams might bring back a piece of high tech equipment, or even a virus program, that is self-aware, hyper-intelligent, and malevolent. What happens if it gets loose? How do we fight it? You know, the whole 'Cyberdyne invents SkyNet, leading to the Terminator going back in time to kill John Conner' thing. Fortunately, Carter was on the team invited to Area 52 to consider just such a scenario, and the situation we find ourselves in is a pretty close approximation. Without, ah, time travel being involved. And vampires instead of terminators, which to my mind is not an improvement, let me tell you…"

Noticing Hammond's glare, O'Neill got back on track. "Anyway, you can't fight an AI using normal tactics. Or maybe I should say that you can't _beat_ an AI using normal tactics. Geniuses aside, the outcome of most conventional battles are determined by logistics. '_Get there firstest with the mostest_' for the win still applies to us as much as it did to Nathan Bedford Forrest…or Caesar…or Ogg the Caveman for that matter. But that rule is only true for a _human_ opponent. Or an alien being of roughly equivalent intelligence. To beat an AI you have to rely on your personal skills; experience, use of deception, your understanding of human motivations and behaviors, plus specific Intelligence or just plain information the AI might not have. It's tough, because you can never be certain what it does or does not know. The First also has Buffy's memories, and can read the minds of anyone who isn't protected by the Ori Mind Shield Device she took from the Doci-monster. Including, I should note, the minds of our counterparts in her universe.

"On the other hand, _our_ Buffy is psychic… and the First _isn't_.

"So basically our enemy is a freakin' _god_ who knows pretty much everything. Our plan, basically, is to fight it like we would handle an AI, and hope like hell that Buffy's psychic 'visions' will give us enough of an edge to beat it." He shrugged. "I'm not exactly thrilled with that either, sir, but if we're gonna fight it at all, Buffy's visions are pretty much the only edge we've got. Her training in how to fight an enemy of this nature is about as good or better than anyone else has, next to me and Carter. She's also already got a team on the ground in the other universe --who report to _her_, not to us-- so we've got no choice but to adapt our operations to theirs regardless. May as well make it official from the onset and save any confusion later on. _She's_ the Slayer. She's in charge. We follow her plan."

Scowls appeared on dozens of faces. Nobody liked the idea of a civilian in command. Especially one who had so many issues with authority. O'Neill didn't have to explain that he wasn't suggesting that she be granted direct tactical command of their forces. That would be too much of a 'Jar Jar Binks' situation, which the Gungans had tolerated but in the real world tended to be resolved by using the 'frag' option. But if they were adopting her overall strategy, it effectively meant she would be in charge of those _implementing_ that strategy. The problem was that most of them thought her strategy sucked. The next problem was that nobody else had a _better_ idea. If they were going to proceed with the only plan on the table, that meant they were going to have to adapt their tactics to her overall vision. Unfortunately, a lot of them not only had issues with her 'vision,' they had issues with _her. _

All of them had read the reports being sent through by Forrest, with detailed information on Buffy's actions since being Called as a Slayer, and the tactics she had used in her most important battles. Aside from the way she and her friends had handled the Mayor of her home town turning into a giant snake at her high-school graduation ceremony –which was something even people at the SGC, who had thought they'd seen it all, found to be pretty far up on their personal weirdness scale—she had never shown much talent for working with a larger team. Her experience with the Initiative had taught her exactly the wrong things, and considering what a CF that had been it was no wonder she didn't trust the military. But her actions afterwards, particularly her subsequent tactics when presented with a similar situation, gave the military a lot of reason to distrust _her_.

Someone among the crowd wasn't afraid to point that out. "I don't think the mere fact that she's the Slayer gives her the right to command _anyone_, let alone us. There are a lot of slayers on her world now. It's no longer so special that it automatically confers authority on her. The more I read these reports the more reluctant I am to trust my life to someone who has made some of the boneheaded decisions she has. That she'd have a sexual relationship with a _girl_ at this time, without even considering the implications should it go public, is symptomatic of her immaturity. In fact, from all I've read, this fling with the bartender was probably the _least worst _decision she's made when it comes to relationships… not counting Finn, of course. Most of them have been with vampires! _Vampires_! How did she manage to reinterpret her mandate from _killing_ vampires to _screwing_ them?!"

His disgust was obvious, and was shared by many of the more religiously-conservative members of the team, but someone else responded before O'Neill could slap him down. "_Two_ vampires, one of whom was considered a Champion for these Powers That Be, the very group we've just been told are so powerful that pissing them off is a real bad idea, and the other a hero who took on a suicide mission in order to destroy a vast horde of whatever the hell these 'Torak-Han' things were. _Both_ of whom had souls. I have no idea what a 'soul' looks like, or how they knew these guys had one, but it meant they worked for the 'good guys.' They might not be the kind of men I'd want my daughter dating, but I can think of worse partners than badass Champions for the Good side. Need I mention the word '_Marine_?!'"

Several people physically shuddered at the reminder that there were worse things than vampires out there, and someone else jumped into the discussion when he paused to let it sink in. "That whole 'soul' thing bothers me. If you can restore the 'soul' to a vampire and they become good guys again, did she have the right to go around slaughtering them in the first place?" Jack glared at the SG-8 commander, who held up a hand, palm forward, seeking to explain. "I know vampires are 'evil' by default. But if their souls _can_ be restored, shouldn't they be restored instead of just killing them on sight? Ethically speaking, unless they've actually committed a crime, they should have the opportunity to have their souls restored and become accepted members of society. I'm only tossing this out there because I'm thinking of what we could do if we had a group of people as powerful as this Angel was, or Spike _is_, working for us. Take some volunteers, people who are dying but are reluctant to accept a Tok'ra symbiote, turn them into vampires, restore their souls, and we could have a team of effectively immortal, super-strong agents working for _us_."

There was a bit of a pause as people considered his concept. Someone else spoke up. "According to Forrest's report, Angel's soul was restored by a _curse_ --which seems to be a contradiction in terms, if not outright sacrilegious—but, regardless, could only be performed by the most powerful witch alive at the time. Only Willow Rosenberg's counterpart is strong enough to do it, and she's working for the opposition. Plus, both vampires who had their souls restored came back pretty much pussified, and spent years-to-decades getting their mojo back. If we did it at all, we'd have to somehow ensure that Rosenberg –who I should point out once again is _working for the First_--did the spell without any additions which might get us all killed, and then wait a long time for the ensouled vampires to be useful in the field again. It seems like it would be a kind of long-range, high-risk, probably low-reward concept to me."

"We're getting off-topic, people." Hammond didn't really raise his voice, but everyone fell silent. "And it doesn't matter anyway because so far as we know vampires cannot exist in our universe. Personally, I see no reason to put this to the test just to find out. As for the morality of the slayer killing vampires who haven't killed anyone yet, I don't think too many of us have issues with wiping out a disease before it turns into a pandemic. Compelling evidence indicates that vampires are, by their very nature, violently sociopathic. Ethical or not, killing them seems a _rational _response." Nobody had a rebuttal, so the topic was immediately tabled.

Fenton spoke up again and kept going when others tried to speak over him. "Getting back to Ken's point about her decision-making deficiencies, I'd like to point out that the vampire you've just been talking about, this 'Angel' dude, lost his soul again because she couldn't keep her pants on! And then he went on a killing rampage! Yet when she had the chance to kill him, she _refused_ to do so! Despite multiple opportunities afterwards to do what had to be done, she _continued_ to refuse to kill him, even knowing the potential threat he represented. Buffy even went so far as to try to kill the other slayer –the same girl she is now _sleeping_ with, mind you!—in order to prevent _her _from doing what she should have done in the first place!"

Jackson responded. "She was _sixteen_ years old, Ash! A sixteen year old girl is _not_ going to kill her first love until she is absolutely certain there is no other way…"

"She was the fucking _Slayer_! That was her _job_! Aren't you telling us that we have to put her in command pretty much solely because she is a slayer?"

"She's not 16 any more…"

"And she's _still_ making _stupid_ goddamn decisions! A lesbian relationship at a time like this…"

"Jack just explained that, _to her_, the lesbian aspect of the relationship was irrelevant! You're judging her based on our own standard of morality. By her standards she did _nothing wrong_!"

"So we should judge the goddamn vampires on the basis of _their_ own morality?! How about the fucking _Goa'uld_?!?"

"_Enough_!" The argument was getting out of hand, and Hammond put a stop to it. When Jackson carefully spoke up again after a few uncomfortable seconds the General would have told him to remain silent, except that it appeared as if the man had gotten himself under control, and Hammond had found it wise to listen when Dr. Jackson felt he had something to say. So he nodded his permission to continue.

"Sorry, I got a bit carried away. I must agree that Colonel Fenton does raise a valid point. I am _not_ suggesting that we bend over so far to accommodate other standards of behavior that we ignore our own ethics. What I _am_ saying is that in order to _understand_ the behavior of other groups we must judge them according to _their own_ standard of ethics, and not misinterpret what we see simply because some of us may find it personally offensive. I realize that some of the people around this table have issues with some of the choices Buffy has made. But in order to understand if Buffy made the wrong choices _according to her own standard_s we must judge her actions by _those_ standards, and not by our own. Otherwise our conclusions would be inherently flawed."

Dr. Boyle, the head of their Psychology Group, was nodding his head in agreement, and Hammond could see that even Fenton reluctantly agreed. The SGC traveled to a lot of different worlds, and met a lot of different cultures. They all knew the danger of ethnocentric bias. Raising an eyebrow questioningly, Hammond silently asked the psychologist for his input. "Unfortunately, we don't have enough information to reach any definitive conclusions, General. We can only go by what Lt. Forrest has been able to gather, and much of that was recovered from the Watchers Council archives provided by Dr. Giles. They weren't happy with her, and their reports might be slightly biased. Also recall that, perhaps, there was more than one 'right' answer, and others might have objected to the one Miss Summers chose. Or, alternatively, there were only 'bad' options, and some people felt that she did not choose the 'least worst' of them.

"I would also like to state for the record that there aren't too many people who can say that all the decisions they made when there were sixteen were good ones. At least from the records I can conclude that Miss Summers did indeed learn a valuable lesson from the decisions she made at that time, and their unfortunate consequences. I can also say that so far as I am concerned, I have no issues with her refusing to kill the vampire after it returned from whatever Hell it was Buffy sent it to when she did, I should point out, finally kill it during the Acathla demon incident. It had done _nothing_ upon its return which would merit its execution. I find myself more than slightly reluctant to condemn anyone to death just because they _might_ at some point in the future do something wrong should they become Evil. Were that our standard, I fear that everyone in this room would have to be killed.

"Everyone outside it as well."

Pretty much everyone winced as his acerbic observation. Hammond didn't see who spoke up next, their voice was so tentative. "She also fired the Council, the very people training her and giving her legitimacy with the governments of her world."

This time Boyle scowled angrily. "I note that this 'Council of Watchers' lived like royalty in England, while Buffy had to flip burgers to make enough money to feed herself and her sister following the death of their mother, all the while simultaneously fighting the demonic creatures inhabiting the Hellmouth. _They never even paid her a wage_! I would have fired them too. The quote we are given from the leader of the Council was telling: '_The slayer is the tool by which we fight. It's been that way from the beginning_.' To them, the Slayer was a _tool_, to be used as they saw fit. A _tool_! Less even than a slave. No, of all the decisions she made, the one I _least _have a problem with is Buffy telling the Council to take a hike. The only real problem with it is that it justified her innate distrust of authority, an attitude which events here have only reinforced."

Their earlier anger fading as many wondered how much of it had been due solely to the lesbian nature of the affair, even Fenton had calmed down when he brought up the next point on his list, which had once seemed so damning. "What about her father's statement?"

There was more wincing, this time with an open tinge of anger. Soon after the story about Buffy refusing to go to church had broken, the media had sought comment from her parents. As usual, her mother refused to speak to them. Also as usual, her father had been positively delighted to do so, claiming that his 'real' daughter was being 'possessed' by an _alien_, whose motives could not be trusted, and it was no surprise that someone being 'demonically possessed' would refuse to go to church. Somehow he had realized that the SGC would rebut with the obvious point that Buffy had been inside numerous churches –she got her Holy Water from them, even if she didn't stay for the service—so he had added that he suspected it was _guilt_ keeping her out, not the Power of God preventing her from entering. But he still thought an exorcism couldn't hurt.

O'Neill responded, trying to suppress the loathing he felt for the man from his tone. "Sif explained what happened to her. The girl we know as 'Buffy' actually _is_ Elizabeth Summers. Elizabeth was pretty much in a coma, but had been psychically connected to Buffy since she was fifteen years old. Before that, their lives were pretty much identical. Since she has been living Buffy's life and answering to her name for so long, Elizabeth _chose_ to retain the name she was used to once she woke up in our universe. She explained everything to her mother, and would have told the father if he hadn't been such a prick and been paid big bucks so that the tabloids could get pictures of the Grand Family Reunion. Buffy said to hell with that and never stopped the car. Now the asshole has to go to ever more ludicrous extremes just to be noticed, since Buffy has completely written him off. I would have done the same thing. The man is a total asshole. Another decision I have no problem with."

Nobody wanted to comment on the disaster that had been Buffy's efforts to oppose the First. Even she acknowledged that it hadn't been among her better moments, and given the scale of her opponents' power and her own lack of understanding as to what she was facing, there was no point in even bringing it up. But there was still the big one, and Fenton didn't hide from it. "She refused to sacrifice her sister to close the portal opened by this 'Hell-God' _Glorificus_. In fact, she threatened to _kill her friends_ if they made any move to harm her sister, despite knowing that the survival of her entire planet depended on closing that portal! Now, I'm not real big on sacrificing people either, but given the alternative, this was a _bad call_. I don't know if I could be comfortable being placed under a commander who put her own emotional needs, or the lives of her friends, above the demands of the mission."

Several people started to respond, but Hammond stood and silence quickly descended as he surveyed the table, meeting everyone's eyes directly. "I have given this particular matter a great deal of thought, and would like to address it myself. Lt. Col. Fenton is entirely correct in his assessment of Miss Summers' tactics during her confrontation with this 'Glory' creature. If anyone in this room ever did something similar I would honor their stand on principle; but I would then make it my business to ensure that said individual never commanded soldiers in battle ever again. The calculus of war is frequently unpleasant, but it is _fair_. No matter how you slice it, one life cannot stand up to _billions_ of lives. Buffy made a decision based on her _emotions_, not on her duty or rational tactical considerations.

"That being said, I would like to point out that Buffy is _not_, and never has been, a soldier. She is a _hero_, and must be judged accordingly. A hero is not going to face such a dilemma and see it as a matter of one life versus many lives. She will not be swayed by arguments to the 'Greater Good.' To a hero, this was all about the _sacrifice of an innocent_, and that is _not_ something any true hero would ever condone. She will make a stand, and protect the innocent life. No matter the cost. I cannot recall just where I heard this, but I have a quote in mind which I believe applies to this situation: '_The world we live in is not always the way it ought to be. It is harsh, and it is cruel. But that is why there are_ heroes. _A hero lives in the world as it_ should _be, and demonstrates by personal example what it_ can _be_.'"

He paused for a few seconds, frowning as a few people got into an argument over whether the quote was from season five or season six of the television show '_Firefly_.' Seeing his glare, they fell silent, and once Hammond had collected his thoughts he continued. "Most of us in this room are pragmatists, although we are also motivated by patriotism. I suppose our prevailing ethical philosophy is '_utilitarianism_,' where our decisions are based on the best possible outcome for the most possible people. It's probably the best guiding principle for a democratic society that we have; but there are limitations to the philosophy. Buffy pretty much personifies the extreme where those limitations are most observable. I have been thinking about this because of her stand on the torture issue. Under the utilitarianism framework, it is acceptable to torture a few people if it results in the saving of many more lives. I fear that we have fallen into the trap of believing that because it meets the philosophical test, the decision to accept torture was the _right_ one to make. It takes someone like Buffy to take a stand and say 'No, this is wrong, _by definition, _regardless of any other considerations.'

"A hero is someone who takes a stand. Who draws a line in the sand and says 'this is as far as you can go; anything further is unacceptable.' No matter what the cost, a hero will _not _sacrifice an innocent child. I do recognize that such moral purity is subject to just as much abuse as any other philosophical position. But overall, I prefer to live in a world where someone is willing to stand up and say '_This.. Is.. Wrong_!' Especially when we have somehow managed to convince ourselves that it is somehow acceptable to _torture_ people, rationalizing it away with the morally dubious notion that it is justified as being for 'the greater good.' I know she can be autocratic and judgmental. I realize she can be self-righteous and willfully blind to the consequences of her moral position. But she is a _hero_! And morally speaking, she is also _right_.

"I don't like 'slippery slope' arguments, but if we accept torture as an unpleasant necessity, will we also accept the sacrifice of an innocent child? A horrible choice, yet we have just seen that under some circumstances the answer appears to be '_yes_.' So what about two? A hundred? _More_? Tell me, people, where do we draw the line? No, we _need_ our heroes. We need someone willing to take a stand on principle and tell us when we've lost our way. We don't always have to _agree_ with them, but we need to _hear _them. I'd hate to live in a world where such dissent is suppressed so we can all pretend that everything is fine, while we all lose a piece of our soul from the delusion of our moral purity."

In the silence following his statement, most of the people around the meeting room table looked either considering, or uncomfortable. Either way, he left them a lot to think about. Most civilians were under the mistaken impression that soldiers were idiots, trained to unthinkingly charge into machine gun bullets. In actual fact most soldiers –and pretty much all _successful_ ones—were students of philosophy. The _reasons_ people had for killing each other were critically important if one wanted to be doing the killing, instead of the dying. Even if they reached different conclusions than the General, most of them would want to understand the underlying motivation for his position.

Of them all, Jackson was probably the person least interested in the philosophical underpinnings of the discussion. Probably because, in his own way, he was a hero too. His quiet words were unnaturally loud in the silent room. "We're going to be fighting what is effectively a God. I think, to beat it, we're going to need a _hero_."

There were nods around the table, many of them reluctant, but nods none the less. Hammond raised an eyebrow at the SG-13 commander, asking if he had anything else to add. Fenton's team would probably be among those charged with fighting the First, and Hammond wanted to know if he had any objections before he committed his forces to battle. He'd seen too many commanders wind up looking like fools because they surrounded themselves with 'yes-men,' and were caught by surprise by problems which might have been brought up during a good bull-session where contrarian views could be aired. Fenton had kept him from stepping his spit-shone boots into a cow-pie more than once.

Fenton was scowling. He knew his function in these sessions, and usually enjoyed them. If he could make Jackson lose his temper, Jack had to buy him a case of beer. But now the fun part was over, and it was time for actual decisions. "I don't like it, sir. Even if Buffy isn't doing it, we're still being blackmailed. The politicians aren't going to like that, and since they can't take out their anger on these 'Powers That Be' things, they're probably going to take it out on _us_. Pissed-off politicians means lots of meetings, lots of bitching and whining under the guise of oversight, and they are going to get even _more_ pissed-off when they find out that we have got _squat_ in the way of overall strategy to handle this First bitch beyond doing whatever the hell Buffy tells us to do. I realize that Colonel O'Neill and his team will give her as much training as they can in the time available, and I further recognize that when it comes to going toe-to-toe with Hell-Gods Buffy is our resident expert." He paused, and took a quick glance around the table.

"But, that being said, we don't know what lessons she took from her initial confrontation with the First. We also don't know the overall strategy she is developing. I should note that the Watchers Council was very careful to not train their slayers in the art of developing strategy. _Tactics_, yes; but overall strategy was owned by the Watchers themselves. Yeah, they were bastards… but they were so obvious about it they probably had a reason for doing things that way. I mean a reason beyond maintaining their control over the slayer. I suspect that if you go far enough back you'll come upon a slayer who was trained properly, probably got over-ambitious, and unleashed some sort of calamity because she didn't realize her own limitations. Placing absolute command in the hands of someone already physically superior to everyone else would quickly lead to overwhelming pride and arrogance… followed inevitably by spectacular failure. In the real world, Conan the Barbarian would have his ass handed to him the first time he came up against a 'butter-bar' with brains.

"Look, truth is, I _like_ Buffy. I think she's gotten a raw deal and handled it pretty much as well as anyone could. But her own experiences are working against her. The Initiative gave her a twisted opinion of the military, the Watchers gave her a lousy opinion about authority figures, her father is a useless sack of shit, and what happened to her here gave her pretty good reason to distrust our government. She's also arrogant as hell, and her own successes have given her ample reason to think she can handle things a lot better than the people who have so blatantly failed her. Personally, I think that might be one of the reasons for the thing with the bartender. She _had_ to know how we'd react. She's basically telling us that she'll do whatever she wants, and if we don't like it we can go piss up a rope, because there's not a damned thing we can do about it.

"Not a good person to be trusting my life to, sir."

There was a bit of mumbled muttering as people whispered to their neighbors, until finally Samantha Carter spoke up above the background noise. "There is one other matter which needs to be discussed, sir. Buffy herself has claimed to have died several times. The reports we're getting from her world indicate that on one of those occasions, she was dead for at least _six month_s! The religious implications of her claiming to have been in Heaven itself during the period she was… uh, _dead_, are going to be debated in churches around the country. Even if we don't consider those implications ourselves, or the methods which were used to bring her back to life, we must take into account that when she _did_ come back, she was _not _the same person. She was tentative, and dependent, and despondent, and suicidal.

"The psychological issues from this experience are the source of her problems. I can't say anything about her 'being in Heaven,' but it is obvious that whatever happened to her following her _suicidal_ leap from a tower, she was content there, until she was returned to an existence she found horrific by comparison. She's been carrying on out of a sense of duty to her mission, love for her sister, and revenge against the First. It has been several years since her 'resurrection…'" Sam put the word in air-quotes with her fingers "…but she still hasn't gotten over it. We've known for some time that her mental state was rather delicate. Now we know _why_. And it's even worse than we thought. I'm uncertain if she is even psychologically capable of handling such a mission. I am concerned that if things go south on us, she'll fall apart. She could quite possibly go catatonic, or worse… perhaps even suicidal. If it is the latter, she'll likely take a lot of other people with her, sir."

There was more muttering, people tossing around comments and thoughts on the issue, Hammond letting it go to see if anyone came up with a viable idea. Finally, O'Neill took up the subject. "She's done pretty well so far, sir. But we won't know how 'brittle' she is until she runs into some serious opposition. That thing with 'being in heaven' really messed her up bad. Until then, her relationship with this Spike asshole was about what you'd expect given that he was a vampire who had been so effectively neutered that she didn't think it was ethically permissible to simply kill the pathetic SOB. After her resurrection she basically used him as a sexual scratching post just to feel _something_. Not a subject I want to get into; but the point is, she used to be a _lot _more screwed up than she is now. She was actually doing pretty well, until the frickin' NID had to mess it all up…" He took a deep breath to calm himself.

"There isn't much concerning the overall strategy we can discuss, simply because we _don't know what it is! _We know that everything depends on this 'Key' thing, but as you all know, any time we discuss the Key whatever conclusions we reach are soon forgotten. The _tactics_, on the other hand, are coming along fine, and if I do say so myself are well thought out. Naturally they are subject to considerable modification as we get more Intel from the other universe, but overall we're talking about utilizing semi-autonomous units subject to some degree of central coordination. Any SGC teams involved will operate as a team, with their own unit commanders. They will be given an assignment based on the overall needs of the mission, but are effectively on their own when it comes to carrying it out. If someone is given a job they feel is ethically unacceptable, there's not much she could do if they refused to carry it out.

"Under normal circumstances I'd agree with Ashton that we should put her on medical leave, but the situation we find ourselves facing is far from normal. Given that fact, I'd say that with appropriate support she can handle it. Unfortunately it's all the rest of the bullshit going on around her that is driving her nuts. This thing with refusing to go to church is irrelevant to the mission, except to people who have somehow decided that _nothing_ is more important than this single issue. This new thing with the bartender chick is going to make things even worse. These are _not_ public issues… or at least they _shouldn't_ be, and _wouldn't _be unless the government _wanted_ them to be. Someone in power is leaking all this stuff. I don't care what their reasons are for doing it: it's stupid and just making things worse. We have _no choice_ but to try to stop the First. We also have _no choice_ but to let Buffy do it. If there was any other way, the Powers would have done it themselves. Turning her life into a public circus doesn't change those facts. It just makes it harder to get the job done.

"Now I'm not actually accusing anyone…" he coughed, sort of barking "_Kinsey_" into his fist before continuing "…of being behind this crap, General. I have absolutely no evidence whatsoever as to whom it might be. But I _am_ saying that we need to do this, and we need _her_ to do it. Messing with her head doesn't help anyone. Tell the President to find out who's behind this and make them stop. Fast. Before it's too late."

Someone was confused. "Why would the government be doing this to her?"

"It's all about power. Well, power and _control_," Carter answered. "The Slayer brings a new element into the political equation. The Asgard are treating the Slayer like an autonomous entity… in fact, are giving _more_ weight to her opinion than they do to that of our political masters. Which, of course, our political masters cannot accept if they expect to _remain _our political masters. They wouldn't mind if the Slayer _had_ power, so long as they _controlled _that power. It's Buffy demanding autonomy that is freaking them out. The problem is they are so fixated on their own potential loss of authority they are not considering the implications should Buffy _fail_. To be honest, they are acting like complete and total short-sighted _idiots_!

"We have been told that Buffy is the very best at what she does. Even with her psychological issues she is still at or near the peak of her powers as a slayer. In terms of experience and innate talent she is light years more capable than any other slayer we are ever likely to deal with in the future. She simply has more --and more varied-- experience than anyone Called after her is ever likely to acquire. It makes _no sense_ to demand a showdown over this issue at this time! The next slayer Called will be inexperienced, and, let's face it, far more easily manipulated than Buffy. It makes far more sense to just let her do her thing, and set some new ground-rules when the next slayer comes along."

Carter's frustration was obvious, so when she paused someone else spoke up. "They might be worried about how long it will take for a new slayer to be Called. Buffy has already survived eight years. It doesn't help them any if the next slayer arrives only after they're no longer in power. If she actually defeats the First, who knows how much longer she can go on."

There was an uncomfortable silence. They were talking about a young girl's death, after all. Jackson cleared his throat nervously, and rubbed his temples, obviously _extremely_ reluctant to comment further, but just as obviously feeling he had no choice. "Even if we win, I suspect she has very little time left. Probably less than a year."

Everyone turned to stare at him, shock apparent on most faces. Teal'c showed no expression, but his eyes were hard, and Daniel addressed his comments to the Jaffa, knowing how much the big man liked her… especially after he saw the difference she had made to Bra'tac, his pride restored by his success in training her. "According to the history we've received from Forrest, Buffy died for the first time in 1998. A Jamaican girl by the name of Kendra, no last name, was Called before Buffy was revived through conventional CPR. She was about the same age as Buffy, but died within a year. Following her death, a new slayer was Called. Her name was… Faith Lehane."

There were murmurs of surprise before Jackson continued. "That's right people. Faith isn't just another slayer; she's Buffy's _heir_! According to Slayer lore, a girl will only be Called sometime following the onset of menstruation, but before she turns eighteen. In Buffy's universe Faith was two years younger than she is, but in our universe Faith is _four_ years younger. Kendra, if she even exists in our universe, is almost certainly already too old to be Called. In less than ten months, Faith will be as well. I would suggest, given that everyone else is pretty much the same age in both universes --except for the difference in the relative rate at which time is passing in each universe since Buffy awoke here-- the fact that Faith is so much younger can _not_ be a coincidence. The Powers That Be are sending a message: they brought Buffy back to do a job, but they've given her a time limit.

"Even if she beats the First, I suspect that Buffy will not survive another year. She can't, not if Miss Lehane is going to be Called next."

Even those people scandalized by her affair thought that was pretty harsh. Jackson looked around the table, meeting everyone's eyes, before continuing. "It might not even be a case of the Powers That Be being jerks. This might be exactly what Buffy wants: a rematch with the one opponent who actually defeated her, a chance to save the world once again, then finally be allowed to rest. Like the General says, she's a _hero_, and let's face it; heroes are generally Drama Queens.

"There is another aspect to consider. Think of the sheer power it would take to find just the correct universe to meet all of their requirements. _Everything_ the same except _one girl _is slightly younger. The incredible scale of their investigation, and the breadth of their plans. And yet these Powers That Be are so afraid of the First that they won't _directly_ oppose it. That is how powerful our opponent is, people! This is the thing our political masters are ignoring as a threat, and trivializing to the point where they will destroy Buffy just because she might threaten their tiny paper empire!

"Finally, I would like to point out that there is _another_ reason why 'someone' is using the media to harass Buffy. If you recall, she gave Mr. Harris a letter for her sister when we first went to her universe. A letter _I _wrote in ancient Sumerian. It turns out that I have a copy of part of that letter in my lab. Essentially, she warns her sister that… uh, 'certain unnamed individuals' in our universe want access to _magic_, and have the power to send through agents specifically charged with getting it for them. Because these agents won't be part of the SGC, they might not be pre-screened to ensure that their counterparts in the other universe are dead. Apparently the person giving these orders either doesn't know about or doesn't care about warning the First about Entropic Cascade Failure. Since the First has never been human until now, and did not exist in any other reality, it would have never experienced ECF, so it _does not know ECF exists_! This is one of the very few advantages we currently have, and we intend to use that knowledge against the First. Unless, that is, the secret is foolishly thrown away out of a desire for personal profit. The letter recommends that Dawn Summers not permit anyone they haven't previously verified to have no living counterpart come through the Quantum Mirror."

Jackson paused, and the room was silent as he turned to face Hammond directly. "I've checked the logs. In the five months since we left Forrest on the other earth, we've sent 81 people through the Mirror for short information-gathering trips, and eight more for long-duration stays. We ensured that all of the 'long-termers' have no counterparts on the other side. But according to Harris's logs from their side, they are showing 8_4 _temporary transients, and _ten_ long-termers. Security has no explanation for the discrepancy. I don't think there is any doubt as to who is behind it. But it does bring up an interesting point. _We_ didn't know about it… but Buffy warned her sister to take care of the matter months ago because she decided that we wouldn't be able to prevent it from happening.

"Apparently she was right."

There were muttered curses all round. O'Neill looked furious, but to their surprise, Teal'c was smiling. When Hammond looked at the big Jaffa with a questioning expression, he explained. "For someone we are considering to be almost mentally incapacitated, BuffySummers appears to be fully cognizant of the realities of her situation. And, apparently, fully capable of dealing with those harsh realities. In fact, she appears to be one step ahead of the NID. Not to mention, it would seem, ahead of the SGC as well. I believe that your concerns over placing yourselves under her tactical guidance are misplaced. In my opinion she is dealing with this matter most expeditiously."

Had he been anyone but Teal'c, the expression on his face might have been considered smug. But he was Teal'c… and his expression _still _looked smug.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16 

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Return To Normal**

**-- **

**Chapter Sixteen**

**-- **

Rupert Giles loved books. Loved the feel of them, the smell, the sheer physical presence of something which appeared so simple, yet had such profound implications to the evolution of human society. They encapsulated knowledge itself, encoded into a permanent form, communicated down through the ages, accessible to anyone with the ability to understand their message. Civilization hadn't just been _written down_ in books; civilization was _made possible_ because of books. Until the written word was developed, knowledge was restricted to what one man could pass along to his sons, or to what one mother could teach to her daughters. By itself, even the advent of writing hadn't really changed much. Until actual _books_ were developed, knowledge was restricted to locations where the written word could be controlled, limited for the exclusive use of the Elite, either the State or the religious orthodoxy. Books meant _freedom_, quite literally, for the human race. Books had led to the end of slavery, of entrenched social stratification, of tyranny, of a permanent underclass of disenfranchised peoples. Books brought knowledge and philosophy and poetry and wisdom to people who would otherwise grow up ignorant of anything beyond the experience of their own senses, who would otherwise be unaware of that which existed beyond their personal horizon. To Giles, books meant _freedom_, and were the very substance of Mankind's own unique greatness.

Computers, on the other hand, were cold. They evoked no tactile response, provided no sense of history, of tradition, through sheer sensual context. The arcane nature of their operating principles brought to mind the very worst of the original written word, when it was a secret reserved for priests and tax collectors. Machines had no _soul_.

They did, however, possess certain useful traits, which occasionally came in rather handy. They were very fast, they could store an immense amount of data, and most importantly, you could adjust the font, a rather convenient feature which was becoming increasingly useful as Giles grew older. Although he still considered them to be 'infernal machines,' he had slowly been making his peace with the likelihood that his beloved books would someday be superseded by these calculating abominations. He still felt that when that happened something important would be lost to history. But he was also fairly certain that ancient scholars had been just as upset when their precious scrolls had been replaced by newfangled 'books' written on 'parchment' by the younger generation millennia earlier. That change had been inadvertently brought about by the Egyptian scholars themselves, after they had stopped exporting papyrus to the city of Pergamon out of jealousy that their library was becoming better than the one in Alexandria. Desperate for an alternative, they discovered that velum sheets combined into codices made a superior end product. From that moment forward, scrolls written on papyrus would be forever reduced to what future generations would call a 'niche market.'

Mark Anthony would later confiscate the entire contents of that library as a wedding present for Cleopatra. It would all go up in flames during the Great Fire. The library back at Pergamon would still be standing, empty, two thousand years later. History was funny like that. If nothing else, the 'dread machines' disseminated knowledge so widely that it was unlikely that any single calamity, short of global destruction, could cost the world so much irreplaceable history as had happened in Alexandria.

Of course, what the machines gave, they also took away. Not since the invention of books had information been so easy to control, knowledge so easy to restrict to those permitted to know it, as was occurring in the so-called 'Information Age.' Fittingly however, what was sauce for the goose, etcetera, as while the government could hide things from the people, the machines made it possible for the people to hide their own secrets from their government. After plugging in his USB key, Giles entered the simple-to-remember four-digit key, which changed every day according to a simple pattern he had memorized but never written down, and the machine did its magic. Thousands of computers contributed tiny fragments of data, none of which would make any sense to anyone who did not possess not only the algorithm programmed into his key, but his own personal key as well, which existed only in his memory. When combined, he suddenly had access to information which made sense only on this one screen, at this one time, but could not be read by anyone else no matter what resources the First of the NSA threw at it. The possible permutations of the combined keys would require more computing horsepower to crack than existed in the known universe.

The Watchers Council had come up with some incredible codes, but they'd never had anything even close to algorithms this sophisticated in their war chest. Dawn had done exceedingly well in her security efforts. Well enough to convince even a technophobe such as him to give up on his prejudices. Had they been using his old system, the information Giles was reading would have taken weeks to get to him, even more weeks to get back to those who needed his answers, and each step in the chain would have been subject to the risk of interception. In the months since she had come to see him, Giles had exchanged hundreds of messages with Dawn, passed along the 'sage advice' she occasionally needed, and even stopped her from doing one or two rather foolish things. He was starting to believe that as mentors went, he was keeping up his end of the deal.

His acquaintances were astonished, and delighted, by the change in him. By the time he'd left his house for the first time in months, he'd lost ten pounds of weight and about ten years of age since they last saw him. His eyes were clear and he found it almost impossible to conceal his excitement. Without having to say a word, everyone who mattered knew _something_ had changed, that he was no longer drowning in despair. Nobody had outright asked him what had changed, but nobody refused him anything he had requested of them. No matter the risk. All had made their own assumptions, and more than a few would probably be fairly accurate. Hundreds of documents had been forwarded to Dawn, and from her on to wherever Buffy was located. He'd been able to send her a quick note, but Dawn had warned him that it would be first read by government censors, and he was far too private a person to put everything he wanted to say into a letter that every Tom, Dick, and Harry would read before Buffy ever saw it. However, he had been able to say the important things. That he loved her. That he missed her. That he was very, very sorry he hadn't told her the truth. Most importantly, that he was immensely proud of her. And that he wasn't at all surprised she had managed to not just survive, but to get them the assistance they required to face their powerful nemesis, despite his own incompetent actions.

She had yet to respond directly, but Dawn assured him this was not due to lingering resentment, but simply the result of an imbalance in the passage of time between the two universes. While it had been several months for him, only a week or two had passed for Buffy. It did not surprise him in the least that she would need to take some time considering her response before sending it through. In the meantime he had uncovered much of the information she had requested concerning the Mutari Device. Why she wanted it, not even Dawn knew. So far as he could tell the Device only worked on Illyria –it had been built _specifically_ to render the God-King vulnerable-- and he hoped Buffy wasn't counting on Illyria to actually _defeat_ the First. Just in case she was, he passed along the legends which strongly suggested that the First had brought about Illyria's downfall all those millennia ago. But he didn't question her motives. Not only because she had amply demonstrated her fitness for making such decisions, but also because he did not want these 'SGC' military-types to have any cause to believe that she did not have anything less than a complete and masterful grasp of the situation.

He only wished he knew more about that 'situation' himself. Given her history, there was no way Buffy would tie herself to the military without a very good reason. Even then he suspected they would have had to demonstrate to her satisfaction that they were far more competent than the Initiative had proven themselves to be. Using the military against the First seemed rather foolish to him… but the report Dawn had showed him months earlier had been _brilliant_, not only in its tactical doctrine, but had demonstrated genuine wisdom in how those tactics should be applied. Nothing was for show; the entire plan was narrowly focused, limited in scale.

Giles had also noted that there was nothing in the document about _directly_ attacking the First itself. The focus had been on limiting the First's options, on _managing_ its possible responses. Whoever wrote it had a firm grasp of the physical abilities of the Beings those military forces would be facing, such as vampires and demons, and a realistic assessment of the weapons required to hold off such monsters in a straight-up fight. Nothing in the plan had been unrealistic, or had permitted the outcome of any single engagement to rely on 'luck.' The force projections, contingencies, possible enemy responses, all had been not just intelligently considered, but coolly assessed.

Although he wanted to meet the person who wrote such a complex, brilliant plan, such a meeting was nowhere near the top of his agenda. Giles wasn't sure if Dawn honestly believed it had been written by Buffy herself, but he had a more realistic appreciation of his slayer's rather unique talents. Writing such plans was _not_ among them. In many ways he was especially pleased about that fact, since it demonstrated --to him at least-- that Buffy acknowledged her own weaknesses and had sought out those more talented in those areas where she required assistance. If such a plan was indicative of the caliber of the help she had found, the First was in for the fight of its life. A fight which they actually stood a chance of winning despite the overwhelming power of their foe. After wasting years of his life to despair and alcohol, Giles was mostly intent on doing anything he could which might assist Buffy in such an endeavor. It was brutally apparent that he had failed her. Having so unexpectedly been given a second –or would that be _third_?-- chance, he did _not_ intend to fail her again. Whatever she needed, he intended to provide, no matter what it took, no matter what it cost. Once again, he was a Watcher. Once again, he had a Slayer. Once again, they were facing the enemies of Humanity, quite literally the _Forces of Evil_. Once again, danger lurked around every corner. Once again, Armageddon itself was nigh.

He had never felt so alive.

--

Leaving the library with its wonderful books and its not-so-wonderful-but-no-longer-quite-so-terrible computers, Giles walked along the sidewalk of the small town in Cornwall, enjoying not just the fresh air, but his return to a condition where he could actually appreciate it. He barely noticed the pretty girl who stepped out of the tiny park entrance just as he passed by, concentrating as he was on more simple pleasures. He was far too old to be ogling pretty young girls. Well, far too old to be _caught_ ogling pretty young girls. It would have humiliated him to be able to hide from the First, the NSA, and Interpol, only to be picked up by some local Bobby for acting like a pervert. He would have passed her by without so much as a glance had she not addressed him directly.

"Hello, Giles."

Pausing, barely able to suppress the urge to panic as he recognized the voice, Rupert Giles frantically searched for an escape route. There wasn't one. Would not have been one even if he had been facing merely human criminals. Very fit young women surrounded him, smirking cockily. The other two he didn't recognize. But he knew the one who spoke.

She remained one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Her oval face soft, her dark eyes huge, her skin flawless, her Latino heritage subtle but adding a touch of the exotic. She was tall and slim and even standing still seemed to radiate the barely-restrained energy of a feline predator. Her dark brown hair was so full and robust it practically shone from within. Her smile was sweet and gentle, her teeth perfect.

She frightened him the way no vampire or demon ever could.

"Hello Kennedy."

It took everything he had to keep the panic out of his voice. Rupert Giles had known this day would come eventually, but he'd hoped it would be 'later' rather than this much 'sooner.' It had only been six months since Dawn had visited, and a great deal of work remained to be done. Work he already knew would never be completed. If Kennedy was here, he understood that meant the game was over. Looking at her classically beautiful face, Giles knew that he was looking into the eyes of his executioner. There would be no reprieve, not this time. He was determined not to tremble before her. No matter how much he wanted to.

"Giles, Giles, _Giles_. Why didn't you just stay drunk? Why couldn't you have just written papers no one would ever read, or been content to read books no one else cares about anymore? But _nooooo_, you had to pretend you aren't a useless old fool, butting your nose into matters that are none of your business. All you managed to do is piss off the Boss. _Not_ a smart thing to do, Rupert."

She actually sounded rather sad about it. Perhaps she even was, in her own twisted way. But Kennedy would not let that feeling distract her from doing whatever 'the Boss' told her to do. Giles did not believe that Kennedy was an actual –as in 'clinical'- sociopath. She was simply so self-centered that whatever happened to other people was of far less importance to her than her own convenience. It made her far more dangerous than those slayers who had been driven to the edge of insanity by their attacks on normal humans at the behest of their leader. Kennedy wasn't crazy. She simply _did not give a damn_ about anyone but herself.

The casual observer could be forgiven for being unable to see the reality of her twisted mind. The passage of time hadn't diminished her beauty. Tall and slim, she was almost as pretty as Dawn, almost as sensual as Faith. He'd had no trouble recognizing her, despite their not having met since he had left the Hell that had been Cleveland following Dawn's defection from his training program three years earlier. She, in turn, probably hadn't had much trouble recognizing him either. After Dawn had reappeared in his life with her incredible information and fantastic devices, he'd cleaned up his act virtually overnight. He now looked much like the distinguished gentleman he had appeared to be when they'd last met, and nothing like the decrepit drunk he had been only a short time before. Knowing from the moment Dawn left him that his time would be limited before the First responded, Giles had sobered up, cleaned up, and gotten busy contacting everyone who remained from the old days to get as much as possible accomplished in the short time he likely had remaining.

There hadn't been many of the old crowd left. None were actual Watchers, but there were librarians, archivists, researchers who knew the score. He had expected that most of them would be too frightened to risk the wrath of the First to help him. Instead, they had risked their lives to provide him with the documents he required, information which would be crucial to any attempt to overthrow the First. Spells and glamours and mystical enchantments capable of acting upon even a being of such power. All had been sent to Dawn for use when the time came for action. He would _not_ betray such people to the First. Unfortunately, he doubted he would be able to long withstand any interrogation performed by such a creature. _Angelus_ might not have broken him, but he had no confidence in his ability to keep any secret from the First.

Only one look into Kennedy's cool brown eyes made it clear that those secrets would be uncovered, no matter what it took, no matter how much he resisted. A proud man, Giles was determined not to betray those who had risked everything to help him. He was even more determined not to betray his _Slayer, _their 'ace in the hole' and the one secret the First could _not_, under any circumstances, be permitted to discover. Giles was almost calm about it as he reached the inevitable decision. Not resigned, but determined not to show an iota less courage than the friends and acquaintances who had assisted him had demonstrated. His voice was almost steady as he faced his executioner. "I'm surprised to see you. Aren't we doing exactly what your 'Boss' wants? Our little activities provide the excuses she uses to extend her controls within governments and security forces. If we weren't doing it, you'd have to do it yourself…" he nodded towards the two other, larger, barely sane slayers accompanying her "…with predictable results."

Kennedy nodded with a gentle smile, one that never reached her eyes. "True. But giving those 'CD player' gizmos to people who shouldn't have them? Not a good idea. We can't have Presidents and Generals and assorted mucky-mucks wearing Mind Control devices, now can we? We can't have people in a position of power when they are under the control of the murderous psychopath Dawn Summers and her merry band of terrorists. Simply _possessing_ such a device has now been determined to be sufficient proof that they are under her control, and unable to oppose her slightest whim. Those people are being rounded up as we speak. They'll receive treatment, of course. But it will take quite some time to reverse the effects of such duplicitous brainwashing. Until they have 'recovered,' someone we trust will be replacing them." She made a 'tsk-tsk' noise, smirking at his expression of horror. "Just one more sign of the sophistication and scope of Dawnie's plan for global domination, and the need for Slayers Inc to stop her nefarious scheme before it can come to fruition. Congress is in an uproar. It won't be long before our girls are given Federal Marshall status to protect them from these Ronin of hers and their nefarious Mind Control devices."

Swallowing painfully, Giles wondered how he could have ever found her smile attractive. One needed only to look into her eyes to know that beneath her surface beauty was the soul of a monster. While the other girls could likely smell his carefully concealed panic and were either amused or excited by it, Kennedy simply did not care one way or another. He didn't need slayer powers to know what she was thinking. To Kennedy, his reaction was unimportant. Only the new powers soon to be hers mattered. Only the things she could _do_ with those new powers mattered. Giles was fully aware of how much power a Federal Marshall had at their disposal. What someone like Kennedy could do with such power. What sort of a bleak future was in store for humanity when a thousand others like Kennedy held such power.

Horrifying as it was, that future was not the matter which concerned Giles the most. The most important thing running through his brain was the absolute imperative that the First not learn that Buffy was still alive. Next to that overwhelming imperative, even the equipment in his possession was unimportant. All of the data was encrypted so tightly not even the First would be able to unscramble it. Magic was notoriously difficult to use deciphering high-tech algorithms rooted in pure mathematics. Not even Willow would be able to crack such a code. If they wanted to know what was going on, the only way to learn his secrets would be to interrogate Giles directly.

He was unable to prevent himself from beginning to shake, the memory of previous horrors overwhelming his desperate need to hide his fear. Having experienced Angelus at his worst, Giles had no wish to repeat the exercise at the hands of a creature even more malevolent. Eventually, he knew, he would break. Eventually, _everyone_ broke. The information he had in his head was quite simply too vital to fall into the hands of the First. More importantly, he could not bear the thought of betraying Buffy yet again. Nothing –_absolutely nothing_—was more important to him than not failing Buffy yet again.

Unfortunately, at present there wasn't much he could do about it. One look into his eyes and Kennedy moved faster than he could react, hands gripping his forearms in an unbreakable vise. "Uh uh. Bad, bad Giles. No suicide pills, no guns to the temple, no Giles-harming what-evers. The Boss wants to talk to you. She wouldn't have much fun speaking to a corpse, now would she?"

Not having any suicide pills, or even a gun, Giles was frantically thinking of what he might do, any stratagem he could even _attempt_, which wasn't doomed to failure. Nothing he could come up with stood the slightest chance of allowing him to escape from _three_ slayers. They were both faster and stronger than him. They undoubtedly were in the possession of documentation and credentials which would compel the local authorities to go along with them, if there happened to be a police officer nearby whose attention he might attract… which there _wasn't_. For now he had little choice but to go along with them, to act like he was defeated, subdued by the knowledge of his own helplessness. He doubted they would be deceived by his apparent docility, but he could not afford to have them simply knock him unconscious and leave him no opportunity to take advantage of any opportunity for escape which presented itself.

Not surprisingly, Kennedy understood his thoughts even as she felt him relax his keyed-up muscles. "Wise decision." Giles understood from her thin smile that she was just as determined not to provide him with such an opening, but he was confident that he was more devious than she could ever hope to be. He'd never written a psychological evaluation of Kennedy, but she wasn't that hard to figure out. A narcissist almost on a scale with the First itself, she was ambitious, self-absorbed, and unrestrained by the slightest taint of ethics or compassion. Giles believed that she would be so certain of her own superiority that she would never consider anyone else a worthy opponent, let alone an actual threat. It was a blind spot he intended to exploit when the opportunity to do so inevitably arose.

The problem was, his options might become even more limited the closer he got to the First. He assumed they would want him awake for the initial trip to wherever the transportation for the Atlantic crossing was located. It was almost certainly an airport, although they might have witches on staff who could do a remote teleportation. If it was an airport, they'd want him awake should local law enforcement ask questions, although he suspected their documentation would get them through even if he was unconscious. He wasn't certain if they would knock him out once they got on the plane, or simply restrain him. There were drugs which could be taken that were harmless in themselves, but reacted powerfully with most anesthetics. Given that he couldn't do a damned thing while unconscious, he intended to state that he had taken such a drug, and trust that his considerably-less-than-Houdini-esque talents at escapology were up to the task of getting him out of whatever restraints they would use to confine him while on the aircraft.

He wasn't sure what he would do at that point –he would still be sharing a very confined space with three slayers, since they would very likely be using one of the Slayers Inc private jets—and even if he could knock out a window –not an easy task—the pilots would have plenty of time to recover. Still, he consoled himself with the belief that it was better to consider escape scenarios than to brood over his current situation as Kennedy sent one of her guards to retrieve their car. The other girl controlled their prisoner while Kennedy moved aside in order to maintain a bit of distance, acting as backup in case Giles had someone with a high-powered rifle covering him, plus leaving her able to respond to contingencies.

He was still considering how he would escape from an airplane while being guarded by three slayers when all such matters became moot.

Maintaining a painfully tight grip on his bicep, the girl took a swift glance to her left, checking for on-coming traffic before stepping out onto the street. Rupert Giles was the last in a line of Watchers which could trace its heritage back more than a thousand years. His final thoughts should have been profound, expounding on his heritage, his achievements, perhaps even his Slayer. Instead, he had just enough time to think, with an almost amused sigh, "_Bloody tourists_…" before they were both struck by a truck sweeping around the corner on what Americans would consider to be the 'wrong' side of the road. Both of them were hit with the full force of the massive vehicle, their bodies flying a dozen feet to crash into the street. The slayer would probably live, despite serious injuries. At least, she would live until the First got a hold of her. Because it was obvious from even a casual glance that Giles did not survive the impact. His neck and back were broken, his eyes open but unseeing.

Kennedy could only curse as she observed the scene. "Shit! Buffy is going to be seriously pissed." She wouldn't be the only one. Kennedy was also fairly certain little Dawnie wouldn't be too happy either.

--

The truck arrived shortly after noon, having followed the guy from the local lumber supply outfit because the driver didn't know the way to Xander's place in the forest. It was a standard courier truck, although the package was far larger than your usual overnight envelope. The huge crate was nearly seven feet long and weighed nearly four hundred pounds. Someone had spent a pretty penny to get it delivered, but it was prepaid, and the truck had its own forklift. Once he had a signature on the LCD panel of his clipboard the driver offloaded the crate to Xander's shop and took off for his next stop, neither knowing nor caring what he had just dropped off.

Xander received a lot of stuff --it came with running a business like his so far from the nearest city-- but he couldn't recall ordering anything recently, and there was no return address on the crate. He was also busy, so didn't get around to finding a crowbar to remove the lid until several hours later. Only after tossing out some vibration-dampening foam did he realize that the crate contained a casket. His knees almost buckled at the realization of what it meant. Who must be inside. They'd been informed of Giles' death several days earlier. It had been described as a traffic accident, but they had their suspicions. He had a pretty good idea as to why the body had been shipped to him. The bitch wanted them to know what had really happened, and who had really been responsible. For a minute or two he tried to figure out a way _not_ to tell Dawn. He knew how she would react, and wanted to prevent her from doing something stupid. But there was no way he could hide this. No way she wouldn't find out.

No way she wouldn't react. Stupidly or otherwise.

Key or not, first and foremost, she was a Summers.

He tried to prepare her for it, but, really, there wasn't a whole lot he could say. Already devastated over learning that Giles had died, and worried about her own culpability in causing that death, receiving the body was like rubbing salt in an exposed wound. Which was the intention, of course. But knowing that fact didn't lesson its effectiveness. Especially when they opened the casket. There was no choice: they _had_ to be certain. Xander and some of the other girls tried to force Dawn away while they did it, but she categorically refused. She had caused this. Her own arrogance and stupidity had led to this. She would not hide from the consequences of her own actions.

The casket had been made from the finest cherry wood. It had probably cost more than ten thousand dollars. As soon as the lid was cracked open it was immediately apparent that the body hadn't received a similar degree of care. The smell hit them with almost physical force. The stench of the corpse voiding gasses into a confined, air-tight space was overwhelming. It hadn't been treated by a mortician, simply dropped into the casket, the remnant indications of what appeared to be a vicious beating received before his death still visible. Dawn wasn't the only one who threw up.

But Dawn was the only one who knew what she intended to do about it.

She _had_ learned from her mistakes. Before giving any orders, she took some time to think it through, to consider the ramifications, to evaluate other options. But first, she cried. Cried almost to the point of exhaustion. Cried as if she would never stop crying. She let it all out, allowing her grief expression, aware that if she tried to repress it she would do something even more incredibly stupid out of pure rage. If she did what she _wanted_ to do, the gloves would come off. They would have to scatter, the Ronin going completely to ground, because the First would come after them for-real. No more using them as an excuse for its power-grab. They would prove themselves actually _dangerous_, not just an irritant but an actual _threat_. The First did not respond well to such threats. If she reacted the way she desperately wanted to, a lot of her girls would _die_. Which was horrible, and made such an option almost impossible to even consider… were it not for the even more horrific thought at the forefront of every option she considered; how could she _not_ respond to such an outrage?

And almost as important: how was she going to explain this to _Buffy_?!

Her sister had warned her not to speak with Giles. But she hadn't listened, and this was the result. The thought was almost too much to bear. For hours people knocked on her door, trying to talk to her, but Dawn found herself almost reverting to the "Get out! Get _Out! Get Out_!!" histrionics she had fallen into after discovering that she was the Key. Normally Xander could talk her down from almost any disappointment --and there had been a lot of them since she left Cleveland-- but this was one straw too many. This was the one which _required_ a response. Because if she didn't respond to an outrage like this, then what damned use was it pretending she was 'opposing' the First? How could the Ronin respect the leadership of someone who refused to respond to a provocation such as this? They were _slayers_! Giles had warned her about restraining them, and if she tried to do so under these circumstances she would lose them. But if she _did_ respond, things were going to get very ugly, very fast.

The obvious move was to do something about Kennedy. Unfortunately they had already been trying to 'do something' about Kennedy for a long time, without success. Although the Ronin were under orders not to needlessly provoke the First, there was an automatic exemption when it came to Kennedy. If anyone had an opportunity to take her out, they had a green light to make the attempt. Nobody had come close to succeeding. Dawn doubted that she would figure out a way to do so in the next few days. She needed something which could be planned, mounted, and implemented _right now_. Long term campaigns weren't a part of this. This was a direct, contemptuous provocation requiring an appropriate, _immediate_ response. If they did nothing, she may as well pack it all in, because it would be the end of the Ronin. It would be the end of _her_.

What made Dawn take so much time considering her options was the knowledge that she did have an 'appropriate response' available, if she elected to use it. One she so desperately wanted to use that she was determined to consider the full ramifications of doing so before she gave the order. The problem was, such an option would only work once, and she had been saving it for the time when she would _really_ need it. Did this occasion merit the use of their one best shot at hitting the First where it would _really_ hurt?

You're damned right it did! Her jaw firming as the decision was finally reached, Dawn gained control over her tears as she went into the washroom to clean her tear-streaked face.

That bitch had murdered _Giles_. If not for Giles, then _who_?! If not for something such as this, then _when_?! If she wouldn't take the shot after what they had done to the closest thing she had to a father, then what would justify taking that one shot? It was going to be bad enough telling Buffy what had happened. Telling her about Giles, without also being able to tell her that she had done something to retaliate for his murder, it would be even worse. It would show everyone that not only was she _stupid_, but that she was _weak_ as well. The thought of failing Buffy _twice_ was just too much. The thought of failing the Ronin, and Giles, and _herself_, was unacceptable. This was the time. It had to be done.

Before leaving the bedroom she took a moment to consider the First's probable response. It was likely to be… _extreme_. The Ronin would have to go to ground, for awhile at least. But that was okay too. Under the circumstances, the Ronin would have no problem dealing with it, when it also meant they were actually, finally, retaliating against the First.

When she finally left her bedroom several hours after leaving them, the full senior crew was waiting in the living room. Xander, China, Grace, Andrew, and Vi. They fell silent as her door opened, and all were looking at her with expressions of concern, slowly changing to fear as she approached. Dawn didn't know what her face was showing, but she didn't care much either. This one she wasn't going to discuss. This decision wasn't subject to a vote. This time, the decision had already been made.

"Andrew, call up the airport. Have them load the device. Confirm that the coordinates have been updated before they launch."

It looked like some of them might have wanted to say something, but when she met their eyes every one of them swallowed on a dry throat and nodded. She was in charge. The decision was hers to make. It had been made. And truth be told, nobody had much of a problem with it. Her orders would be carried out immediately.

--

The airport was about fifty miles from Xander's place, just south of Allegany State Park on the Pennsylvania side. It was a grass field where light planes were used to survey the nearby reservoir and give tourists a bird's-eye view of the Park. There was no control tower, just a wind sock, which was pretty much all that was needed given that no more than two or three planes would use the field in any given day. There wasn't even anyone loitering around to watch as the twin-engine Beech Baron 58 take off. Which was fortunate, because they may have been sufficiently knowledgeable to wonder why it took the aircraft almost the entire length of the field to get up to air speed. Even so, they probably would have just shrugged it off as a plane carrying a heavier-than-usual load. It was well known that the weight of the average tourist was going up fast.

Their conclusion would have been partially correct. The Beech could easily carry six passengers, but on this occasion there was only the crew of two, and their payload. The aircraft had most definitely not been designed to do what they intended to do with that particular payload, but they'd extensively modified the fuselage, modeled the required actions using very sophisticated flight-control software, and even practiced the process a few times. This would be the first and only time they would do it for-real, and both were pretty excited about it. Both were young, nerdly friends of Andrew Wells, and neither spared a single thought as to what would happen to that payload once it reached its destination. Such considerations were for others to worry about. Theirs was simply the technical challenge of making it possible. They'd had several hours to discuss every detail of the mission since receiving the order, since the profile required that they begin only at a very specific time on any given day.

Once the plane struggled up to its maximum height, the co-pilot turned around to power up the device. He checked his safety harness before beginning to remove the specially-prepared panels, exposing the upper left rear part of the cabin to the outside air. The cabin walls curved back so they weren't facing the direct impact of their 200 knot speed, but it was still pretty damned windy. The device was loaded on a platform which had been designed to shoot it out, barely missing the struts of the aircraft frame, and with just force to push the device far enough that it would travel above the rear wing and to the side of the tail. The pilot would immediately turn and climb, to get well away from where the device would discard its shell, spread its tiny wings, and engage its engine.

Among their problems was the fact that the Coast Guard had them on radar, and the device wasn't radar-invisible. The cover assembly was designed to give a specific return, and on radar it should look like a panel fell off the plane, which would also explain their otherwise unusual maneuvers. That cover had to come off in time for the device to deploy its wings and get up to speed just before it crashed to the ground. There were trade-offs calculated into each step, aided by the fact that the radar was mostly aimed across Lake Erie onto the Canadian side looking for drug smugglers rather than concentrating on things well inside US territory. But they were geeks, they trusted their numbers, and were more excited than nervous now that the time had come to put those calculations to the test.

Once his panel indicated that the device had gained a GPS lock, the co-pilot strapped himself back in and engaged a large LED countdown timer. All movements had been synchronized, and once the timer reached '1' he braced himself for the sudden jolt as the device was jettisoned, and the even more abrupt gyrations as the pilot frantically maneuvered the aircraft into the required evasion pattern. It took nearly thirty seconds for them to regain complete control and return to flying straight and true. The pilot radioed the main flight control center in Erie, explained that they had experienced a 'structural problem' but that the aircraft was under control, he was _not_ declaring an emergency, but was returning to the airport immediately due to mechanical trouble. As the flight controller approved his request and reminded him that he would have to fill out some paperwork for the FAA, the co-pilot replaced the cabin panels, absently searching for the device. He wasn't really surprised when he couldn't find it anywhere.

--

At launch, the whole thing had weighed just under 1100 pounds. Nearly two hundred of those pounds were the cover and drogue chute assembly. Six seconds after deployment, the drogue chute engaged, removing the device from the cover. The wings spread automatically and the engine fired. Air speed increased rapidly, which was fortunate since by then the device only had about three hundred feet of elevation. By the time it was able to reverse its dive, it was less than sixty feet above the trees. Nor did it climb much higher than that as it got its bearings from the GPS system and adjusted its trajectory. A small laser altimeter verified its altitude constantly, checking against the information encoded in its terrain database. It was on target and on schedule.

What Andrew and his friends had come up with was effectively a home-made cruise missile. Everything in it came from commercially-available parts. The pulse-jet engine was a sophisticated upgrade to the design which had powered the V1 'Buzz-bomb' the Nazi's had used on England seventy years earlier. The gyroscopes were all solid-state, as were the computers and guidance system. The 355 pounds of high-explosive in the warhead was far less than the equivalent carried on military cruise missiles like the Tomahawk, but the target it was seeking wasn't defended by military countermeasure either. Their target _was_ defended by mystical defenses the Tomahawk would never have been able to penetrate. That was where Andrew and his group had worked their own magic.

None of the wizards on Andrew's team had a fraction of Willow's power, but they weren't fools either, and knew that not even Willow could be strong everywhere, all the time. All they needed was an exploitable weakness, even one that was only intermittently available, which could be used to bypass everything else she had done. They had actually found their weak point long before they'd built the missile. Andrew and Amy had carefully enhanced a crystal with the equivalent of a broaching spell, and planned the entire attack around the fact that it would only work at the exact moment the sun set, when Willow's spell automatically reset. Everything had to be timed to the second, and updated each day as the precise moment of sunset changed with the passing of the seasons.

There was, in fact, one additional trick incorporated into the missile. Willow had feared that the military might attack the compound, so had a permanent spell in place disrupting local GPS accuracy. Just about every weapon more sophisticated than a rifle now relied on the GPS, and all would suddenly lose lock on the satellites as they approached the Slayers Inc compound. In effect, the timing patterns from the on-board clocks would be shifted by an artificial Doppler variance. Accuracy would go from centimeters to tens-of-meters, which was far too big of an error radius for any guarantee of 'one shot, one kill.' For the military, that meant it would take a lot of missiles to be certain they could take out a specific target within the compound.

If was unfortunate the military did not retain the services of a completely fucked up genius named Andrew Wells. But Dawn did. And he had come through for her.

--

Kem Wight was an ugly man. In every way. Mentally, physically, spiritually, morally. Everything he did, everything he said, everything he _thought_ was an example of human depravity. The only reason he wasn't in jail was because he was a coward. If he'd had any brains at all he would have been dangerous, but Kem was quite simply a loathsome example of the shallow end of the human gene pool. He had no concept of personal hygiene, personal space, or personality. He didn't have a friend in the world… but he just _loved_ his job.

That job was the sort of loathsome activity one would expect a man like Kem to occupy. Had anyone bothered to ask him, they would have been amazed to hear that he enjoyed what he did. Had anyone further asked him _why_ he enjoyed it, _then_ they might have understood. But no one ever had, which was why Kem was enjoying himself and his job, and wasn't in jail where he belonged.

Technically, he was a janitor. He cleaned toilets, and usually returned home smelling of excrement, which was another reason why nobody talked to him. But Kem worked in a very special place, cleaning up after very special people. He worked inside the Retreat, within the Slayers Inc compound. Except for him and three other custodians just like him, only Buffy Summers herself was allowed into the Retreat. They pretty much never saw her. Which meant that so long as they cleaned up the shit and piss and vomit on the floor, replaced the sleeping mats, and washed down the girls to get rid of the worst of the stench, nobody knew or cared what else they did within that building the rest of their shift.

Actually, that wasn't entirely true. If they got too carried away playing with the mindless girls and didn't get rid of the stink before Miss Summers got back _she_ would care. And some of those girls were really starting to smell. They didn't actually feel pain –their minds were too far gone for such sensations to register-- so when one got cut, and if they were so weakened that it didn't heal, gangrene sometimes set in. Since it was their responsibility to report such injuries to Miss Summers, it was usually the fault of the janitor when one was cut so badly that not even slayer healing could repair it. So when it happened, one or more of the janitors would be fired, and never be seen again. Or if one of the drones got pregnant, both the girl and the guy who did it would disappear permanently. Apparently getting knocked up did something to their body chemistry that made them useless to Miss Summers. Miss Summers did _not_ like it when she lost an otherwise perfectly good drone. But other than that, they were pretty much free to do whatever the fuck they wanted.

To a guy who had never gotten laid in his life it was like paradise. Even the cheapest whores, the ones most desperate for drug money, had always turned him down, like he was something too gross for them. Even though the bitches did it for _money_! That had bothered him, a lot. But the drones _couldn't_ turn him or anyone else down. They were so fucked up it wasn't like they even knew what he did with them, even while he was doing it. Granted, by the time he got to them they were pretty far gone. Tub always claimed the newest ones, the ones who didn't look like they hadn't had a bath or a good meal in months, and Tub was so fucking scary nobody else dared touch ones he had claimed. So he had to make do with the best of the rest. Even though they looked like walking corpses, sometimes they struck out at random, and they still had enough slayer strength to kick like a mule. Beener had gotten so pissed off when that happened awhile ago he had kicked the bitch back, and when the huge bruise his kick caused started to stink a few weeks later Miss Summers had fired him.

Lately, Kem had started to realize that he hadn't seen his old friend Beener in weeks. In fact, he hadn't seen ol' Beener since he was fired.

That realization was beginning to bother him, in a foggy, I-am-not-sure-if-this-is-important kind of way. Mostly, he was concerned that there were getting to be a shit-load of girls, and even with the custodial staff working three shifts it was starting to be quite a chore cleaning up and hand-feeding better than 200 girls. There was hardly any time for recreational activities any more, and without that added benefit the rest of the job pretty much blew. But Kem didn't want to quit until he found out what happened to Beener. Kem wasn't the brightest bulb in the light gallery, and was only dimly coming to the realization that quitting might be easier said than done.

Kem was wise enough to realize that some leverage might be needed, so had been bringing his cell phone to work for quite some time. He wanted to take pictures of the drones, maybe sell them to some skin mags, or maybe even the ones that didn't actually show naked titties at the checkout stand at the food store. For some reason his pictures never turned out. Outside of the Retreat the camera worked fine: inside, _nada_. The phone itself worked, but not the camera. Only one man per shift was allowed to have a phone, and Miss Summers had selected him. Tub had complained, 'cause he was the shift boss, but Miss Summers had said something to him, and Tub hadn't said anything about it since. Tub was a psycho, but he wasn't _stupid_. Not even Tub fucked with Miss Summers.

--

Thirty seconds from its target, the home-made missile started running its terminal programming. The explosives were armed. A terminal elevation gain was initiated. On the missile itself, just as the GPS started to lose lock, a computer dialed a phone number, using the guts of a cellular phone Andrew's geeks had installed for just this moment. It wasn't necessary that anyone answer the call. All that was needed was for the cell network to locate the phone.

--

Kem was surprised to receive a phone call. Usually he used the phone to order supplies, and leave voice mail with the number of any drone who was really sick, so that Miss Summers could take care of them. It was never a good sign when he got a call. "Hello?"

--

The on-board computer abandoned the failing GPS link and triangulated the cell phone location based on the three cell towers receiving the signal. Simple calculations pinpointed the location of the phone to within six feet, far better accuracy than the degraded GPS system could provide at that location. The wings reconfigured and the missile began its terminal descent.

--

Kem frowned at his cell. Nobody was saying anything, but he could hear a weird 'whirring' sound from the other end.

--

The missile penetrated the roof without slowing and detonated when the altimeter indicated that it was ten feet above the floor. The high explosives in the warhead lit off almost directly above where the First stood when she 'fed' from the adulation of her worshippers. She wasn't there at the time, nor had Dawn intended for her to be. Killing the First wasn't the objective. Killing one source of her _power_ was the objective. Releasing those girls from a hell on earth was the objective. In those goals, she succeeded. In the next fraction of a second, 215 people died in a massive explosion which took out the entire Retreat.

--

The First spoke into the camera, not even trying to conceal its rage. Under the circumstances it was expected, although the reasons for it were not what the viewers probably assumed. "I might not have been as diligent as I should have been. I don't think so, but that might be the case. My sister is _crazy_, and I might have subconsciously been giving her a bit of a break because the doctors all say she is suffering from schizophrenia. She is suffering from paranoid delusions that _I _am some kind of monster! It is a well-known fact that slayers can't harm human beings, unless in self-defense, without slowly going insane. We know that with so many girls being Called there were bound to be a few bad apples, who do stupid things and hurt people. The worse they act, the crazier they become. We have specialists trained to keep an eye out for it. When we notice it happening we get them the help they need, but by then many of them are so paranoid they run away and join up with the Ronin. Virtually all of the Ronin are slayers who like to hurt people, and are going insane due to the consequences of such behavior. They are _all_ crazy, my sister is even _crazier_, and of course they blame us for their problems! It's not surprising they look at us as the enemy.

"There is a well-known saying about everyone being the hero in their own dreams, and I'm sure my sister and her 'Ronin' groupies honestly believe that we are the Bad Guys. 'We' meaning myself and the girls working with me here at Slayers, Inc. But I mean, _c'mon_! The girls here are in a media spotlight. They make the slightest mistake and you reporters tell it to the entire world! Especially now that we're affiliated with the Justice Department, and have a whole new level of bureaucratic oversight watching our every move! If we were doing something unethical we'd soon go nuts, and everyone would know it, because we'd do something crazy… _like sending a goddamn missile into a_ church_ filled with young girls_!!"

Her rage was so palpable some of the reporters nervously took a hasty step backwards, but the Slayer-In-Chief nodded at them apologetically to show that her anger was not directed at them. It was reserved for someone else, someone she addressed personally, staring directly into the video camera. "This will _not_ stand! Dawn, it might not be your fault that you're crazy, but that doesn't give you the right to _slaughter_ more than _two hundred_ young girls! Young… jeezus, they were practically _children_! This has gone too far. This _will not stand_! I promise you."

Abruptly turning away from the media scrum, the camera followed her tense figure as the somber reporters described frantic rescue efforts, noting that there was very little chance any survivors would be found in the wreckage left from the massive explosion. They stood well back from the smoldering pile of what had once been the world-famous Retreat. Grim slayers assisting in the futile rescue effort were in no mood to tolerate any breach of the rules. All looked like they were just itching for an excuse to cut loose with lethal violence.

They were not alone in their desire to strike out. Venting her rage over the disgusting act of barbarism committed by her sister couldn't make up for the loss of the reverence of the First's worshippers. Their adoration had been like a drug, and the First realized that the loss would have profound consequences for her mental state. Already she could feel her emotional controls dropping, just from the knowledge that she wouldn't be able to bask in undiluted glorification by her prostrate worshippers that evening. It took monumental self-control for her not to inform the outraged slayers combing through the wreckage where her dear sister was hiding, so they could go after her and wreak swift vengeance.

Unfortunately, while it would undoubtedly be emotionally satisfying, such an outcome was not otherwise desirable. For more than a year she had been turning Dawn and her Ronin scum into a terrorist threat, giving vampire clans free reign in certain locations, having her own people set off bombs to use as an excuse to claim ever more power from civil authorities. This latest abomination was, in all other respects, _exactly_ what the First needed in order to demand even more authority over the local security establishment. The sophistication of the missile had come as quite a shock to the government. If she could hit a specific building within the Slayer Compound, then the Ronin could hit –audible gasp of horror—_them_! Politicians were now clamoring to give the First powers it would have never dared request only a day earlier.

So there was a definite upside to the attack. But that didn't alter the even more significant _down_side. The loss of her adoring worshippers was the most critical. But almost as important had been the results of her investigation into the 'CD player' and 'USB decoder' devices like the ones recovered from Rupert Giles' body. Those devices had originally come to the First's attention when Faith dropped off its personal 'awareness' grid. When most of her dear sisters' slayer attendants slowly followed, the First took notice. But she _really_ started taking an interest when some of its most important political and business contacts suddenly went silent as well. This was simply _unacceptable_, so the First ordered one of them assassinated –blaming her death on the terrorist Ronin, of course—and had the corpse investigated for the source of the zone of interference. The 'CD player' had been the obvious candidate. Most people were now wearing smaller, lighter mp3 players, after all.

When Rupert Giles had gone 'off grid,' the First had decided that enough was enough. If anyone would know who was behind the devices, and their intentions, it would be the surviving Watcher. His self-elimination had barely delayed her investigation, since certain inferences were already obvious. The fact that he had even possessed such devices indicated that this wasn't a government-backed effort to oppose her, but was being initiated within the mystical realm where Watchers and slayers held sway.

The First had already suspected this from its investigation of the device worn by the dead politician. The guts were unexpectedly sophisticated. Technically within the capabilities of local industries to manufacture, but the underlying principle it was invoking was far beyond the understanding of the local scientific establishment. Even if they had somehow accidentally stumbled upon such incredibly advanced knowledge, there was no way for them to know it would work against her. Only the First used such a method of mind control and telepathy. How could they possibly have known such an obscure effect would be effective against her when there was no other candidate around to test it on? The encoding algorithms in the USB device followed principles unknown to local mathematicians. Even the NSA had been baffled by its sophistication. The only possible conclusion was as outrageous as it was inconvenient. Someone else had to have provided the Ronin the hardware, the algorithms, and instructions on how to build both using native technology.

Someone had gone to considerable effort to make it look like it was a local effort, or at most something developed by a race not much more technically sophisticated than humanity. But the First wasn't fooled. Only one of the Ascended races could have done it.

The First found it difficult to control its rage. It had warned all of the Ascended races the price for interfering with its plans. For a moment it considered exterminating the Powers That Be, and anyone else who might have dared to defy its orders. But, after considering its options, the First decided against reaping immediate apocalyptic vengeance. To do so would require that it leave its corporeal shell. It was too close to fulfilling its dreams to waste time jumping into another slayer shell afterwards; as it would require considerable time to reclaim control over Slayers Inc upon its return. There were codes and hidden assets it had set up for just such an eventuality, but unless absolutely required it didn't want to waste its time doing so. Besides, there was no actual evidence that the Powers That Be were the Ascended race responsible for the outrage. Not that the First was reluctant to exterminate them just on general principles, but if they weren't actually behind it, that might leave the responsible Ascended race feeling that it hadn't been detected so could continue acting against instructions. Discovering which one of the many candidate races actually was behind the outrage would take too much time.

It wasn't easy for the First to reach such a decision, as it required that it prevent itself from lashing out in anger. It was, in fact, mildly surprised that it retained the self-control to do so. A close examination of its logic chain discovered why. The sudden recollection as to what her dear sister truly was came as a shocking revelation. For months it had forgotten. The knowledge wasn't essential to its plans at the time, but was now becoming increasingly important. Only when it had almost ordered the complete annihilation of the Ronin had an almost subconscious feeling of unease forced it to reconsider its decision. The instinctive understanding that it could not afford to kill Dawn under _any_ circumstances forced it to stay its hand. Such an impediment to its inclinations and desires was almost intolerable. Only the thought of another billion-year wait until it could locate the Key once again gave it the strength to reconsider. In the end, it was able to control its natural reaction to punish those who irritated it, and was able to restrain itself from lashing out in instinctive rage.

Its restraint turned out to be wise. Although the original device they had removed from the dead politician had been manufactured locally, it was soon obvious that the one recovered from the Watcher's corpse represented a slightly more sophisticated design. As if it had been built commercially, rather than hand-made from a kit. In the weeks to come a far more detailed examination of that device uncovered evidence that it had been constructed from materials not native to this _universe_. The constituent elements were almost identical, but not an exact match to certain natural physical constants unique to this space and time. Such materials could not come from earth, or even another planet in this universe. The inference was obvious. An Ascended race in another universe was working against it. Or perhaps the Powers That Be had Ascended allies in other dimensions, and they were _both_ working against it. The First needed to know the identity of that other Ascended race. To locate them, all it needed to do was discover the source of the device.

When it did, those who were attempting to interfere with its plans would pay for their insubordination.

They would pay dearly. All of them.

They would all pay dearly indeed.


	17. Chapter 17  Part 1

Chapter 17 - Part 1 

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

--

**Return To Normal**

--

**Chapter Seventeen - Part 1**

--

The local morning television show didn't often score guests so newsworthy. Everyone in the control room knew they'd have their biggest audience _ever_ this day. The political gamesmanship and legal posturing over this young woman was the sort that made history. More importantly, made _Pulitzers_. Everyone wanted to get this one right. Instead of lame jokes and incessant traffic reports, their senior anchor was giving a background talk to the audience in his deep, '_I'm being serious here_…' voice while the crew readied their guest for her interview. A recap of the Mayor's speech when he refused to turn her over to the FBI due to her age. Technical experts where shown challenging State Security's claim that the recovered video footage of their guest being raped had been doctored. Senators posturing about Federal interference given that the crime was under State jurisdiction. The Governor, rumored to be considering a run for the White House next term, obviously feeling this might represent the wedge issue he would need to cut into Senator Kinsey's overwhelming electoral momentum.

All in all, it was a news-junkie's wet dream.

It helped that the girl was _hot_. Movie-star hot, except there was a hard, almost palpable rage in her intense brown eyes. Few people would notice it at first glance, however, as they would inevitably be distracted by a body of blatant, raw sexuality. She moved with an almost liquid grace, but her muscles were visibly tense, tightly leashed, obviously ready to burst into action. Every movement was sensual, triggering a response all the more genuine for it not being deliberate. Granted that her clothing was skin-tight, emphasizing her spectacular form, but Hollywood had any number of equally-attractive plastic mannequins. Whatever intrinsic magic separated the merely pretty from the sex goddess, this girl had more than her fair share. Even her voice oozed sex appeal: low, sensual, throaty as if she had smoked far too many cigarettes. She gave off the impression of being wild, untamed; a woman capable of burning a man to his core and leaving him wanting to come back for more.

And not just men.

It was immediately apparent this was no pampered princess. There was a feral quality to her, the watchful intensity of a wild animal restraining itself because it had been temporarily beaten into submission, but would explode into violent rage if prodded much further. Fortunately the man doing the interview was a pro and recognized that, despite appearances, he was dealing with someone barely under control, and phrased his questions very carefully. "I understand that this is a sensitive issue, Miss Lehane, but as you know, State Security has accused you of seducing Mr. Rutherford Vasilonovich with the objective of blackmailing him…"

The way the girl glared at him just then made it clear that if she'd had a chainsaw in her hands, they'd still be finding gibs in the studio rafters a week later. Somehow, it only made her look sexier. The skin-tight leather pants helped, but the eye couldn't help but be focused on braless-breasts nicely outlined under an even tighter black cotton t-shirt with a high-contrast photograph of an angry young Johnny Cash giving the finger covering the entire front. A heaving bosom had never heaved so… _impressively_. Even a pro like the man doing the interview had to forcibly restrain his eyes from straying. Fortunately her lawyer noticed the imminent carnage and stepped into the breach before blood could be shed.

"Faith prefers to be referred to by her first name only, Mr. DeAngelo. As you are aware, State Security has not offered the slightest modicum of evidence to back up such a claim. The Boston PD has officially contested State Security's interpretation of the evidence. Regardless of its veracity, even if their claims did have any merit –which they do _not_—we contend that Faith falls under the auspices of the Juvenile authorities. There is absolutely no justification for State Security to demand jurisdiction on any level. Their federal warrant is illegal, and will be contested in State court. During this process, Federal authorities of any kind will be denied access to my client, given the repugnant and illegal actions they have already demonstrated in their efforts to abduct her."

The interviewer desperately tried to suppress a smile. He loved it when things like this happened. Fights like this one provided not just steady employment for journalists, but national exposure and, perhaps, even a chance to make history. His career had just been extended by years. People would not soon forget the shit-storm this story was about to unleash. "Their claim is not only that the video was computer generated, but that Miss Leha… my apologies, I should say '_Faith_'… but that Faith assaulted a man they now claim was an undercover Federal agent, one whose work might have brought down a huge Mafia syndicate…"

Unable to control herself, the girl exploded in rage. "Assaulted _him_?! _I_ assaulted _him_?! You gotta be _kidding_ me! Yeah, I kicked him in the _balls_, but that mother-fuBEEP was trying to…"

Having expected it, the station was running a 15-second delay on the broadcast so they would have time to edit out such profanity. Those doing the censoring were all smiling. For them, this was shaping up to be a real fun day.

--

Buffy wasn't the only one giggling as they watched the interview being rebroadcast on a network current-affairs program that evening. Public interest in the case was intense, and CNN seemed determined to make it their new 'missing white girl' saturation coverage _cause-celebre_. Even without her connection to the Slayer, the story was pure gold. Lesbian sex. Political interference. Mafia connections. And one incredibly hot babe. Faith was about to become the most famous person in America who wasn't clinically brain-dead. It was unlikely Congress would return from their vacations and begin a special overnight session to pass an illegal law to determine Faith's future, but the city of Boston, and the State of Massachusetts, were figuratively girding their loins to take on Washington if they tried to mess with one of their own.

It truly was a thing of beauty. Faith had the looks and attitude to ride this wave to fame and fortune. Evidently others thought so as well, given the swarm of lawyers, media-relations specialists, court-appointed psychologists, and Hollywood agents now surrounding her. The litigation specialists on her legal team had entered a multi-million dollar Defamation of Character lawsuit against State Security, and an even bigger one against the suddenly _very_ -scrutinized Mr. Vasilonovich. The titanic media saturation had completely overwhelmed the normally shadowy world of State Security operations, and Buffy doubted they would be able to recover. Messing with the average person was one thing. Messing with multi-million dollar law firms and Hollywood was something else again.

Faith was going to crucify the bastards. Everyone watching suspected it as well. To Buffy's surprise, it had also done wonders for her standing within the SGC. They were still a bit freaked out about her 'doing the nasty' with another girl, but after watching Faith put on her awesome display, verbally eviscerating the new national police force, telling her side of the story concerning the actual events only hinted at on the tape, so most of them had a pretty good idea as to why she'd done it. There weren't too many people watching the show who didn't want to sleep with Faith themselves. Once the show ended, Buffy had gone from _icky_ -queer to 'HLA'-erotic.

Buffy seriously wondered if it would be appropriate to send Faith flowers.

In truth, the change in attitude from her co-workers came as a desperately welcome relief. Her life had become far too public for her peace of mind, and without actually saying anything she had become quite a controversial figure. Buffy understood that only part of it was directed towards her. People were simply scared, and lashing out at any convenient target. The issue of what to do about the First had become so divisive that the President himself would be arriving later that day to discuss the matter. Security was incredibly tight, but rumors had started to appear in the media, and outside interest was intense. After the revelation concerning the Goa'uld and Ori, the idea that the Slayer was advocating fighting an even more powerful enemy had everyone walking on eggshells. The SGC was still coming to grips with the unending revelations coming out in the media concerning the StarGate. Nobody wanted another war on top of everything else.

Despite that, and somewhat to her surprise, Buffy found that most SGC personnel were somewhat reluctantly backing her position. There had been quite a few hold-outs, but many of them changed their mind after watching Faith's appearance on the morning talk show. They claimed it was because they believed her story about what happened in her basement back in Boston, but for the most part Buffy figured they were just willing to 'forgive' her for having sex with a chick that damned hot. Had Faith been a pudgy, androgynous bull-dyke, they would have likely fought her to the ends of the earth. But for the most part people were calmly preparing themselves for another war. The SGC had learned the hard way that wars did not come at 'convenient' times, and delaying the inevitable usually only made things worse. Plus, they had also learned that is was never a good idea to go against the expressed wishes of the Asgard. Regardless, by the time the President and his team arrived, Buffy figured she was only facing one opponent, and wouldn't have to fight the SGC as well.

--

He was an impressive man. Tall, silver-haired, affecting a faux-casualness when dealing with people that made him instantly seem likable. Buffy didn't let that folksiness fool her; this man was a born politician, and a good one. After the walking disaster that had been his predecessor, he'd had to be.

Naturally he greeted Hammond first, accepting the salute, but holding out his hand to be shaken. They were meeting outside the Mountain, but within the bases' heavily-defended perimeter. After the excitement of the previous visit, his massively reinforced Secret Service detail had categorically forbidden the usual meet and greet at the airport. Plus, it kept the newsies at bay. Given the political situation this was not a minor consideration. "George!"

"Welcome to Cheyenne Mountain, Mr. President. May I introduce you to…" Hammond first introduced the NORAD commander and his retinue. They would not be involved in the meetings to come, but they were powerful men, and that power needed to be recognized and acknowledged. The welcoming party had been kept to the bare minimum, but it still took ten minutes for the President and his party to enter the tunnel, where they were finally beyond the view of the distant cameras, the media forbidden entry to the secure facility. They were rushed to the elevator, down 27 floors, and finally entered the Briefing Room, where the SGC Command Team, along with Buffy, awaited their presence. Once again, the usual introductions and respectful greetings were exchanged.

From up close, Buffy couldn't help but notice that his hair was thinner than it appeared from a distance, and his face far more lined than implied by his official photos. Either he was a lot older than he tried to appear, or the past few years had aged him considerably. Given Hammond's respectful attitude, she suspected the latter. Hammond just wasn't the type to suck up to someone he didn't genuinely respect. The difference in the way he treated this man compared to Senator Kinsey was blatantly obvious, and Buffy took her lead from that respectful demeanor. He might be a politician… but Hammond thought he was a good man. When he finally got to her, his greeting was as heartfelt and effusive as she could ask for. He thanked her for saving his life, asked if she was feeling better, if she got the flowers, if she had everything she needed, the whole smoozing deal.

It worked, too. It was really hard to build up anger to a man so solicitous to your welfare, so obviously grateful for your effort to save his life. But Buffy wasn't fooled. She couldn't help but notice that the shirt under his $3000 suit jacket was wrinkled, the cuffs loosened, the tie still on but hung loose, the top button of his shirt undone immediately after he was out of sight of the cameras. This wasn't a man afraid to get his hands dirty. For all his pretensions of being her best friend and admirer, this man wasn't going to sit back and agree to the consensus of opinion if he disagreed with that decision. Not because he was a back-stabbing bastard like Kinsey, but because he thought he was right and was determined to make her do what he wanted.

Even on first glance, Buffy knew he would be a far more dangerous adversary than Kinsey. He wouldn't fall for false platitudes or succumb to his own innate greed. Which kinda sucked, because it meant that working around him was going to be a lot trickier. Still, he was a man claiming the authority to speak for the entire Earth, while permitting policies so egregious he was met by protesters everywhere he went except among his own core group of sycophants. Buffy had been working with the SGC long enough to understand the concept of 'imposing your will,' and if this guy thought he was going to do that to her, he was in for quite a surprise. She would keep Hammond's approval in mind, but Buffy did not intend to let this man claim he had authority over her actions, when he actually spoke for such a small percentage of the Human race.

"Mr. President." It didn't hurt to be polite, however. Ever since Kinsey's visit she had given a lot of thought to his claim that she had no right to make decision's that were the prerogative of the President. She wished she could discuss it with Giles. It had always been his department to handle ethical issues. He always had well-reasoned arguments, and she liked to think that she always listened to those arguments. She simply didn't always agree with his conclusions. They were already accusing her of being arrogant, and it was a hard charge to refute. She _was_ arrogant. But she was also fairly certain she was _right_ in this matter. She'd listen to what he had to say, but she knew, and suspected everyone else in the room also knew, that in the end he'd need something truly spectacular to change her mind. Arrogant or not, she had learned her lessons on power politics the hard way, and did not intend to be bullied.

Especially by the son of a bitch who had, inadvertently or not, permitted her to be tortured.

"Miss Summers." He smiled, showing a mouthful of gleaming white teeth. There was a look in his eyes which suggested he knew just what she was thinking, and that he intended to dissuade her of that opinion. Her own carefully-calibrated smile suggested he was more than welcome to try. Messages received and understood, the President politely waited for her to sit before taking his place between Hammond and one of his flunkies… the Secretary of State or whatever his title was. Buffy didn't really pay a lot of attention to the identities of the underlings. Politicians followed a sociological structure much like the vampire hierarchy: there was the Master, a few trusted Attendants, and a whole bunch of lackeys. She figured the brain had finite storage capacity, so wasting part of it memorizing the names of lackeys was not just useless but counterproductive. Those neurons could be used to memorize the location of the nearest Nordstrom's. After all, the fat guy was just a 'secretary.' He pulled any 'tude on her and she'd demand he take notes and fetch her some coffee.

There was some preliminary discussions, mostly probing questions to determine just how adamant Buffy was about going after the First despite their wishes to the contrary. Of equal importance, how much she knew about the internal debates going on within the Administration on whether or not they should let her do it. The cost of preventing her would be astronomical. The price for letting her go and having her _fail_ might be apocalyptic. The President's range of options was extremely narrow, particularly now that Kinsey was privately advocating they do everything they could to assist her, given the Asgard's rather firm suggestion that there would be severe consequences should they not, while preparing to publicly excoriate his administration for contemplating permitting her to 'desecrate' a religious icon. It wouldn't be long before the media picked up on the fact that they were considering opening up a fifth front, after the battles in Iraq, Afghanistan, as well as fighting the Gao'uld and now the Ori. A battle nobody really wanted added to their plate.

Too much had happened too fast. Aliens, interplanetary war, the StarGate, people with mind control powers, not to mention a superhero from an alternate universe. People were overwhelmed with too many changes to their way of looking at the world, in too short a time. In their confusion and uncertainty, many were turning to religion. The idea that there was an actual icon created by God Himself within their grasp might push some of them over the edge into fanaticism. The idea that the superhero intended to use that religious icon as a weapon to kill another being of godlike power was going to totally freak them out.

Fear and religion never made a good combination. When someone appeared to be desecrating that religion when others were seeking comfort in it, the combination turned volatile. Bad things tended to happen.

--

The meeting had started out badly, and went steadily downhill from there.

Even by her standards Buffy had been confrontational. She was being crucified in the press, and she didn't like it that she was being blamed for things that were beyond her control. Her incessant glaring had been enough to make the Secret Service detail so nervous they wouldn't leave the President's side. She had saved his ass at the airport, but that didn't mean she forgave him for what his government had done to her. No matter what Hammond had said about their reasons or the actual controls placed on the interrogation process, this man had let it happen, knowing it would inevitably get out of hand, and she was in no mood to forgive him. Had any demon done to her what he had let happen, she would have hunted down and killed said demon without hesitation and with a great deal of retaliatory pain. Just because something was legal didn't mean it was right, and she did not intend to compromise her principles just to accommodate someone who had so obviously compromised his own.

Somewhat to her surprise, the President seemed to understand that he was in no position to demand that she follow his orders, and was obviously putting considerable effort into both controlling his temper and bending over backwards to accommodate her views. But it was equally apparent that he had his own agenda, and did not intend to let her ride roughshod over his plans. Which led to some serious butting of heads as he tried to respectfully suggest that it wasn't realistic of her to believe that he should put American troops at her disposal without knowing what she intended to do with them. Buffy, not quite so respectfully, indicated their purpose was to defeat an implacable and dangerous opponent, that the First threatened his country so it made sense to do something about it before they got killed, and that _she_, for one, had no hidden agenda.

The President was annoyed by the implication that he was holding something back, appearing confused and a bit angry that she was suggesting he had some sort of plan he wasn't telling anyone.

Buffy wasn't buying it. "Oh, what a load of crap! You _knew_ Belnyk was a Prior!"

He seemed stunned by an accusation coming out of left field. "Like hell we did!" After an hour of argument, both were pretty stressed, and tempers were short.

Buffy had given a lot of thought to the matter, and pushed back just as hard as she could. "Okay, you might not have known he was a _Prior_; but you sure as hell knew he wasn't _human_! You knew he was finding people like Denneck who could do that 'thrall' thing! That was the whole point of setting up your torture facilities. Find people like Denneck, torture them until they either agreed to work for you or died, and use them to convince everyone that there was this huge underground movement of PiT's out to take over the world unless you were given all the powers you wanted to 'save' them from this bullshit alien threat!"

"The 'threat' we face is hardly 'bullshit'!" The President growled back, meeting Buffy's glaring eyes angrily, privately astonished at how much she had guessed. "Yes, okay, we _knew_ about them…about Denneck and the others like him… but until you showed up we had no other way of finding out how many there were, or how to stop them from taking us over! The threat was _real_!"

Eyes opened wide in shock around the table at his admission, but neither Buffy nor the President were paying attention to anyone else. Buffy had never gotten over being tortured, and was not in a forgiving mood, so kept pressing. "Except you didn't shut the program down once you _did_ know, because you were trying to convince everyone that the PiT's were a _real_ menace. You're _still_ trying to convince them, which is why you're so pissed off at me: because I told everyone there weren't any more of them out there! That's why you had to sick your pet media vultures on me! Before I opened my big mouth I was this great superhero. I tell the truth and suddenly I'm turned into a whiny freak and people start whispering that I can't be trusted! They're implying that there are a bunch of PiT's still on the loose, and maybe they have _me_ under their control! Or maybe I'm really working with them for some nefarious purpose of my own! Or _perhaps_… and this is the one I'm starting to see a lot when I read between the lines… I'm working with the _Asgard_ to do something horrific, unpatriotic, and probably _fattening_ to the unsuspecting American public! It's nice to know I'm not the only one you think sucks. You're out to smear the _Asgard_ too! And since the news media are completely whipped on this world, you'll probably be able to make it stick. So what did the _Asgard_ do to piss you off?"

There was dead silence as the others in the room looked stunned. Nobody else had seen anything like what she was suggesting in the media, and Hammond had considered himself to be pretty good at reading the 'tea leaves' of political thought. The idea of turning against the Asgard was insane! The Asgard were humanity's most powerful extraterrestrial ally! They could understand that the President might not want to take on the First, but spinning the story to make the Asgard out to be just another potential threat in order to make his case horrified everyone at the SGC. They turned, almost as one, to face the President, who continued to stare at Buffy, stone-faced. Like all good politicians he had formidable control over his emotions, but she got the impression that she had not only infuriated him, but surprised him. Which didn't bother her in the slightest. It was why she'd dropped it that way, with no preparation, so he couldn't spin it.

"Everybody out. _Now_!" The President's growled order caught them all by surprise, except perhaps Buffy, who continued to glare back at him. It was Hammond's office, but when you were the President of the United States you could tell even a two-star general to get the hell of his office out when you needed some privacy. Everyone reluctantly scooted, except for a Secret Service agent who tried to shut the door on the others while he stood within the office. Despite his obvious irritation the President smiled fondly at the mulish expression on the agent's face. "You too, Sangar."

The big agent, in his natty black suit, made a determined effort not to look over to the slayer. "Sir…"

The President was having none of it. "Sangar, if you think you could stop her if she _really_ wanted to kill me then you've been smoking that funny weed again. This is private. Out."

With obvious reluctance, and a final threatening glare tossed towards Buffy, the agent left the office and closed the door behind him. Sitting down behind Hammond's desk once he was gone, releasing his breath and favoring her with a charming, and surprisingly relaxed smile, the President muttered as he began opening random drawers. "He's gotta have something in here… There will be times when he needs it. And God only knows, _I'm_ going to need a drink for this." He gave a triumphant snort and pulled out a bottle of Canadian whiskey, grabbing a crystal glass from a nearby shelf. He didn't offer any to Buffy –he was aware that she did not drink alcohol-- just offered her a casual salute, savored a respectful sip, and gave a pleased sigh. "Good man, that George. If there's anything I can't stand, it's a man with lousy taste in his libations." With that, he settled back in the chair and met Buffy's angry eyes without flinching. "Alright, young lady. No more witnesses. No more bullshit. What the hell are you talking about?"

If she hadn't been so angry, months of bitterness finally spewing forth, Buffy would never have dared made the accusation she had earlier tossed out. She had no evidence whatsoever to back it up. Just a feeling, based on the shift in tone coming out of Washington since it had been reported that the Asgard were meeting with European leaders in Brussels. Nobody had come out and directly accused her of suggesting such a move to Thor, but there were whispered conversations when she was seen approaching, contemplative glares which didn't disappear even when she explicitly denied having talked to the Asgard since Sif had left. In her mind the change in tone regarding her had come in parallel to that relating to the Asgard, and she had wondered if there was a connection.

She was fishing, but she was angry, so had tossed it out there just to see what happened. Apparently she had managed to hook something a lot bigger than she had expected. "You know damned well what I'm talking about! You don't want to help me but you know the Asgard want you to. They're going to be pretty upset if you don't do what they want. So upset they might break things off with your government, which might freak out the voters. So you're smearing them the same way you're dragging me through the mud! When they get angry at you for doing it, you're going to blame _me_ for causing the break in relations! You're setting both of us up! Hey, no surprise you'd go after _me_, but you'd have to be _crazy_ to go after the Asgard! You're going to _betray_ them, after everything they've done for you!"

He nodded, not upset by the accusation, and neither looking nor speaking like the crazy person he would have to be to do what she was accusing him of doing. "'Betray' is a harsh word, Buffy. _Accurate_, but harsh. I wish there was another way. I _like_ the Asgard. I respect their achievements. But the fact is, this has been a long time coming. It would have happened eventually anyway, but this has just provided a good excuse to do it now. We really have no choice. Well, not if we want to _win_, anyways." He seemed almost relieved to be able to finally speak the truth, and didn't notice her shock at the realization that she had been right all along. "The Asgard, like the Tok'ra, have become too set in their ways, unwilling to experiment with innovative tactics or adapt to new strategies. They want our help to fight their enemies, but won't listen to us when we offer suggestions on how to do just that. It's becoming a real problem, because their ways of doing things _aren't working_. They've only got one response to everything: no matter how the enemy adapts, they just look for another technical innovation. Never a change in tactics. Never a change in leadership or doctrine. All they ever look to is a new gadget that will buy them a bit more time. Only each time it buys them _less_ additional time. The Asgard won't give us any hard numbers on their conflict with the Replicators, but I don't need actual numbers to know they are losing. If Earth is in the same situation when they do finally lose as we are in now, then we are pretty much screwed.

"So I'm through trying to convince them with words. This time, I'm going to show them how it's done. We needed their protection while we figured out what the hell was going on out there, and how to defend ourselves against it. Now that we have, it's time to take the gloves off. I'm tired of this crap. That last stunt with the Goa'uld bombing the shit out of us was the final straw. The Asgard can take their treaty and shove it up their ass.

"I'm going on the offensive. And this time we're going to fight them _my_ way."

--

The President appeared to be fascinated by the color of the whiskey refracted by the cut of the crystal. Knowing he'd caught the girl completely by surprise, he smiled without amusement, assessing his own thoughts as he finally had an excuse to tell someone else his real plans. Plans he hadn't fully explained to even his closest advisors. Speaking more to his glass, and to himself, than to Buffy, he knew she was listening, and only distantly wondered if he would survive the telling. "What is happening in Iraq right now is a real object lesson in how _not_ to use our soldiers. We've spent decades training our troops into basically a purely _offensive_ force. The whole Cold War doctrine come back to bite us in the ass this time. Go in, crush the enemy, and then get the hell out while second-tier NATO or UN troops come in to do the peacekeeping and put the place back together again under better management.

"We deliberately condition our fighting men and women to dehumanize their foe. The enemy, as a group, is to be considered sub-human, inherently dangerous, a threat to our families, not worthy of polluting our air with their flatulence. People generally are not born killers. If they were, we wouldn't be able to build a cooperative society, and there would be no concept of mercy. You have to make a deliberate effort to desensitize them to normal human feelings of compassion. Our troops suck at peacekeeping because they've been trained not to give a damn if their enemy lives or dies…they are either 'not a threat,' or they're a target who needs shooting. It's real simple. If we have to retrain them so that they _do_ care, they're no damned good to us the next time we need them to slaughter the next group we arbitrarily declare to be a sub-human mob of vile scum needing to be eradicated from the face of the earth.

"Your Watchers Council friends ran into the same problem when dealing with you. You fell in love with a vampire. It _didn't matter_ that he had a 'soul' or any other extraneous crap. He was a vampire, and your job was to _kill vampires_. When you refused to do so in Angel's case, regardless of your motives, the Watchers could only write you off and wait for you to die and a replacement to arrive. In fact, I suspect they would pretty much write off _anyone_ who was Called without being indoctrinated as a Potential. Those who hadn't been properly conditioned from an early age might not view everyone the Watchers designated as needing killing as fitting into the same cookie-cutter mold of 'sub-human enemy,' which effectively made them useless to the Watchers. You don't want soldiers who question their orders. You yourself are a prime example as to why. You might have been _right_, but that doesn't change the fact that you _mutinied_. Those in command don't _stay_ in command very long when it is discovered that their troops won't do what they are told."

He paused for a sip of his drink, finally turning to stare at her, his expression assessing. "The Asgard are sort of in a similar situation when it comes to us. And for the same reason. It may have escaped your notice, but when it comes to the military arts, the Asgard _suck_. There's no doubting their technical genius, but even among humans, scientists don't make great generals. Sam Carter is about five times smarter than Jack O'Neill, but once the fur starts flying she listens to _him_. Not only because he's her superior officer, but because he's _better_ at this stuff than she is. The _only_ thing he's better at than her, mind you: but when it comes to killing things, my money is on O'Neill. Just like it's on humans compared to any other race we might end up facing once the shooting starts. There are better individual predators, but _as a species_ we've turned warfare into a science, and given the right tools we can take on all comers.

"The Asgard are already coming to us for tactical advice. Even those 'Powers That Be' of yours figured you alone were more able to handle the Ori than the entire Asgard fleet! They're good people, and they've kept the galaxy safe from being overrun by the Goa'uld and the Replicators for a long time, but it won't be long before they will simply have to get the hell out of our way while we take care of business. To us, they have become like the Watchers Council was to you. Useful, worthy of respect for what they can do, but no longer the voice of unquestioned authority. Maybe they're just too advanced for something as barbaric as slaughter and mayhem, but the simple fact of the matter is that within a few years we will be taking over the job of defending the galaxy from threats like the Ori, because we're better at it than they are.

"Now I could spin it and explain it a different way, but the fact is, yes, we are effectively going to be telling the Asgard to kiss off. Why? Because their rules and tactics are getting in the way of getting the job done. Just like you and the Watchers Council, we've seen enough and done enough to know that we can do it better and faster if they'll get off our backs and let us do what needs to be done. More to the point, we need to break the Protected Planets Treaty we signed with them. It is designed to use Asgard military power to protect otherwise defenseless planets from the Goa'uld, but it also effectively stymies our own plans to open up other planets to emigration. There are a lot of people on this planet, Buffy, and it is about to become imperative that we let a whole lot of them go elsewhere. So imperative in fact, that I'm willing to piss off the Asgard to make it happen. Because very soon now, the emigration issue will come to a boil."

He paused for a minute, taking another sip of his drink, and when he resumed talking he spoke to a point off her shoulder, his mind apparently filled with unpleasant memories. Buffy sat silently, astonished by what she was hearing. "A few months after I was elected, not long after I learned about the SGC and the whole Goa'uld situation, the British Ambassador requested a private audience where she wanted to 'discuss' the matter. Now the Brits can be condescending little bastards, but they do have a better eye on geopolitical affairs than we do, if only because they can't get away with ignoring other countries' opinions like we can. Basically, the Ambassador explained to me that so far as His Majesty's Government was concerned, my predecessor's plan for permanent American dominance of a uni-polar world was _not_ something they were comfortable with, and other countries were even more adamantly opposed to. No wonder, to be honest. A succession of idiotic decisions, backed by lies, half-baked assumptions, and smug, condescending arrogance does _not_ tend to leave people feeling that you are the people who can be trusted to make beneficent, let alone _wise_, long-term decisions going forward for the entire planet.

"We'd given the Brits almost everything –their own Away Team, their own Legion Gun, access to most of the research coming out of the SGC—and even _they_ weren't prepared to accept our vision of a uni-polar future, with us being the only Superpower, and everyone else towing the line or else. My predecessors' assumption of innate, God-given American superiority tended to go over badly with foreigners… thin-skinned bastards that they are. They'd gone behind our backs and put together a list of things they could do to prevent us from assuming our rightful place dominating the world. It was, uh, quite a list, let me tell you! And quite an eye-opening experience for me personally, I must admit. I had some top-secret studies commissioned looking into what might happen once the secret of the StarGate came out, how it might play here and in other countries. Essentially, what the Ambassador told me was just the tip of the iceberg.

"If I wanted to prevent a new variant of MAD from dominating international political posturing, I needed a new plan on how to address the StarGate issue with countries who would do absolutely _anything_ they had to do in order to keep it from being the exclusive property of the United States. Once that plan was in place, I needed to let the secret out, only at a time and place of my own choosing."

Buffy glared at him, not buying for a minute that there was an actual 'plan' behind the events she had witnessed, beyond a 'plan' to save his own political ass. She figured that once the secret got out after the Doci forced him to go public, he was just coming up with some bogus cover story. "Yeah, right. You went from being the Most Powerful Man On Earth to being the equivalent of some barbarian sheik permitted to listen in while the Brits decide how World War 1 was going to be fought in Arabia. I don't think you liked that. I think you decided to do something about it."

"Like what?" The President seemed genuinely interested in learning how the Slayer would interpret his actions.

Buffy had been thinking about it for awhile. Why would the _United States_, of all places, turn its back on two hundred years of history and tradition to accept state-supported _torture_?! Why would they let someone like Denneck run free when they apparently knew what he really was? She hadn't reached any conclusion until just minutes earlier, when the President spoke of breaking the Protected Planets Treaty. Finally, it all made a sick kind of sense. "You've decided to pull your own version of what the Goa'uld are doing! Pretend to be God! Or, at least, twisting people's religious beliefs so that they'll demand to go on an interstellar jihad and wipe out the Goa'uld, the Jaffa, anyone else they encounter... even the Asgard if I'm anywhere close to figuring this out right.

"I couldn't figure out why a man like you would permit something as disgraceful as 'torture' to be not just _used_, but practically _encouraged_! But now it's all starting to make sense… well, from _your_ perspective at least. You wanted to find someone like Berklyn. An alien who is screwing with our heads. You'd torture them until they were 'persuaded' to tell people what you want them to hear. But there weren't _enough_ real Priors. So you started grabbing anyone who might be doing something similar –looking for Priors In Training types—intending to brainwash them until they were willing to do the same thing. Who would you use them against? Well, duh, that's a no-brainer. Have them tell the _Arabs_ that their leaders are _aliens_ using them as dupes. Provide an example of an _actual alien_ such as Berklyn pretending to be human. Imply that the Ayatolla's are either aliens or PiT's, _using_ their followers for their own nefarious reasons.

"Nobody likes to be duped. I figure you're planning to offer to let them go to Abydos or wherever to fight the monsters who have been messing with their heads. _That's_ why you need to break the treaty with the Asgard! You want the average Arab man-on-the-street to think he's been played and get seriously pissed off about it. Bring on the jihad against the godless alien infidel! The Mahdi's army goes through the 'Gate, and conquers Abydos or some other extraterrestrial shit-hole. Most of them die in the process, of course, but who gives a damn? If they win, you win. If they lose, you _still_ win."

The President smiled thinly, without humor, but privately amazed that she had figured out more than experts like O'Neill or Hammond. O'Neill's reports on the Slayer had indicated she was proving to be quite adept at learning to think strategically. Even more adept than Jack had thought, apparently. She was just so damned easy to underestimate… "Right idea; wrong order. This wasn't set up to _get rid_ of the Arabs; it was concocted _in response_ to threats _from_ Arabs! Well, not Arabs in general, but religious extremists. Most of whom these days just happen to be Moslem. I know we've got more than our fair share of crazies right here, and there are nutcases doing stupid things in the name of animal rights, or the environment, or, hell, lowering the costs of university tuition; but they're not the ones blowing themselves up along with a bunch of innocent bystanders to protest whatever it is that is pissing them off. The plan isn't something we just pulled out of our ass either. We've thought about it for years. Considered the ramifications, the alternatives. This is what we came up with. It _sucks_, but it's what we've got. Everything else was worse."

Buffy glared back at him, angry and incredulous. "This is all about 'Moslems'?! They're not a _threat_! At least, not a _global _threat, unlike the Goa'uld, and nowhere close to being as dangerous as the First! At most they're an _irritant_! I can't believe you'd risk your relationship with the Asgard, and toss aside the Bill of Rights, just to slap down some jerks in the Middle East!"

The President met her glare without flinching, no longer amused, eyes hard. "9/11 was hardly just an 'irritant,' Miss Summers. It was, in fact, the beginning of the end of society as we know it. Quite literally. For years we have been considering how to inform the public about the StarGate. We've got all these fancy toys we want to get out to the market. We're sitting on a scientific and industrial revolution! But every study --_every single one of them_!-- made it clear that if we ever went public, the results would be _catastrophic_! Other countries would immediately demand that we give up unilateral control of the StarGate. No other country could survive as an independent entity if we kept it to ourselves, they'd all realize it; but you can bet a lot of powerful people in this country would want to _try_. If one side didn't back down we'd have a nuclear war on our hands, plain and simple, and our technological lead isn't so great that we could survive it. I'm not just talking about Russia and China here either. Even our closest allies would want to make damned sure that nobody had _exclusive_ access to the StarGate. They'd have no choice if they wanted to survive as anything other than our vassals.

"Given the alternative, we could work something out. Some kind of 'time sharing' arrangement with other global powers. It would be difficult. To move excess population off-world, China and India would _each_ need full use of the 'Gate 24/7/365, which doesn't leave a whole lot of time for everything else everyone else in the world will want to do. Trying to come to any agreement on priorities would likely leave Third World nations out in the cold. They're already being left behind just with our own technological growth. Add in alien tech and they don't have a hope in hell of ever catching up."

He paused, giving her an assessing glance. "Pretend you're some Grand Ayatollah in Qom, Iran, contemplating the future. You're already being left behind, technologically speaking, but the people in the fast lane are Godless heathens who are addicted to oil, so you can be comfortably smug, basking in your moral superiority in a bathtub filled with petrodollars. The infidels might have better _toys_, but _your_ soul isn't tainted by Western Decadence, and whatever you need from them you can buy because they need your oil. Now, suddenly the West has the StarGate. Soon, they won't need your oil anymore. And there isn't anything else you have that they want.

"Moral purity is nice, but the fact remains that your country in located right atop the rectal orifice of this planet. Which was okay so long as you could afford to buy industrial-grade air conditioners and 4-Wheel-Drive Lamborghini's from the decadent West. But if they no longer need your oil, you will no longer be able to afford such luxuries... or even the _necessities_, if you're at all honest with yourself. You lead millions of people who are living in a godforsaken sandbox, and not many of them are going to be either happy about or capable of rejoining the Bedouin. The traditional solution is to go to war; to _take_ what you need from whoever else has it. Unfortunately, nobody on Earth can fight the US Army on its own terms and win. You've seen that. And right now, the bulk of that army just happens to be sitting on your doorstep in Iraq and Afghanistan, blocking your every move. So what do you do?"

Buffy shrugged. "I'd make a deal. I'd offer to send them to other planets in return for the resources they need…"

The President sighed. Not contemptuously, not like he thought she was a fool, but just a touch bitterly, regretfully. "Two problems. First, the Protected Planets Treaty means we _can't_ flood other planets with colonists. But, secondly, and more importantly, that might be what _you_ would do, but it's not what _Grand Ayatollah_ Buffy would do! For _her_, everything is seen through a prism of not just religious fanaticism, but her innate cultural bias. _Everything_ is a test from God! _Everything_ the West does is out of spite, hatred of Arabs, the return of the Crusades, or plain old cultural imperialism! You _don't trust_ the West! You will _never_ trust the West! For good reason, probably. But justified or not, your experience and prejudices will prevent you from accepting that this situation is different; that if you work with us, you can not only _survive_, but _blossom_, culturally speaking. We're talking about such a fundamental shift in manufacturing technologies that within a few decades, everyone on Earth can be wealthier than the richest king was a century ago. But you _can't_ work with us, not only because you don't trust us, but because we are, by definition, _infidels_!

"Which is where we run into the _real_ problem. The religious aspect trumps everything else. We're living in the Twenty First century, we're on the cusp of exploding into space, we're challenging the might of the most powerful empire in the galaxy; and it's all being threatened by religious differences more than a thousand years old! Pretty trivial ones, too, when compared to some of the extreme theological doctrines we've encountered on other planets. The Ori might be the most powerful example, but they're far from the _craziest_! Once the clerics start going over some of them, they'll discover just how much our terrestrial religions all have in common. But until then, the Arab world is screwed, they know it, they can't do anything about it militarily, and they're going to be more than a little upset about those facts.

"As an example, consider the situation the Iranians find themselves in. They are busting their humps to get nuclear weapons… but we're discovering shield technologies which will render nukes impotent. Up until now they've got all this oil they could threaten to cut off; but we're working on naquada reactors and fusion technology which will very soon render oil moot. Worse, we're sharing the technology with the _Israelis_, their natural enemies. From their perspective, right now, _today_, they are as strong relative to Israel as they are ever going to get. Even if we give them access to StarGate technology, their relative clout will diminish with each passing day…and we're _not_ giving them that access. Right now they _can_ threaten us, but very soon this will no longer be true. Unless they are prepared to work _with_ us, as time passes they will inevitably fade even further into irrelevance. Even if you're _not_ a religious fanatic your options are limited. Add religion to the equation, where extremist elements find themselves increasingly impotent relative to enemies who are _by definition_ an abomination against God, and a lot of people are going to be thinking that a sustained terrorist campaign against the US and its allies is probably their best option if they wish to retain a voice on the world stage.

"In fact, from their perspective, it might be their _only_ option."

Noticing her shocked expression, the President gave a grim smile, happy to share the grim horror. After a short pause, he continued. "Which means terrorism on a massive scale. The equivalent of a 9/11 every few weeks, somewhere in the world. Because they won't just be going after _us_! We'll be the primary target, but every Western nation will be in their sights. And we'll fight back, of course. Which is where the real problem rears its ugly head. The things western democracies will have to do to protect themselves from rampant terrorism will quickly turn them into states which are anything _but _democracies. Civil liberties will go first. They'll need to keep an eye on all known troublemakers, or even those who might someday _become_ troublemakers. Which means, of course, that everyone will have to be watched. _Everything_ will have to be documented. Bureaucracy from hell will rear its ugly head. The 'civil rights' issues get all the Press; but actually it is the _bureaucracy_ that will kill us in the end. Instead of going to R&D or Continuous Improvement, ever increasing resources go towards maintaining the basic functionality of the State. To protect ourselves from terrorism we'll turn ourselves into sheep governed by Big Brother, obsessed with paperwork and the trivialities of bureaucracy, until the Goa'uld or the Ori bomb the lot of us out of our pathetic existences'."

When he fell silent Buffy considered his prognostication. She didn't really doubt the terrorism aspect. The reports on the nightly news showed just how angry the mobs in the Middle East already were. The price of oil wasn't tanking only because so much American production was still off-line due to the Goold strike on the Gulf of Mexico. Once it came back on-stream, the price was expected to collapse due to rumors about working fusion reactors about to come online. There were plenty of terrorists already, and once the oil money ran out to placate the masses, there would undoubtedly be a lot more. But that didn't mean the rest of his scenario had to come to pass. "Wouldn't it be easier just to make a deal?"

"_Insh'allah_." He smiled. "You may already know what it means: 'God's Will.' There's a whole psychological aspect to the issue coming into play. You may think they take religion seriously here in Colorado Springs, but it doesn't even _begin_ to compare with the religious fanaticism occurring in the Middle East. Which is both the problem and a potential solution for our little dilemma. We have to make the average 'guy in the street' in Moslem countries hate the _Goa'uld_ more than they hate _us_! They need to be convinced that what is happening now is a combination of alien conspiracy and _God's Will_. Convinced that they aren't losing their economic leverage due to their own stupidity and extremism and short-sightedness, but because God is _testing_ them. We have to show them that they have a _choice: _to sit in their no-longer-air-conditioned house in the middle of the desert and eat sand, or they can _pass through the 'Gate and conquer a new world for the glory of the Prophet_!

"They've got the Palestinian example to demonstrate the foolishness of trying to sit around waiting for a country to suddenly become available. If we sell it right, a lot of them –mostly the uneducated ones who can't make a go of it in today's economy, who of course also tend to be the most fanatical—will realize they will not only have a better chance of accomplishing something useful with their lives if they go through the 'Gate, but they'll be doing _God's Will_ by doing so. We need to convince them that by making the StarGate available just when they need it, _God Himself_ is sending them a message.

"At least, that's how we're _hoping_ they'll see it."

Buffy shook her head, frustrated and bitter at the methods he had used to come up with a plan she doubted would ever actually work in the real world. "So your solution is to _lie_?! To torture people and brainwash people until they lie _for _you?! All this, just to set up an elaborate deception which probably won't do what you expect and will likely blow up in your face?!"

The President gave a thin, self-deprecating, slightly sad smile, and nodded. "Pretty much, yeah. The interrogation process was put in place for a reason. Until you came along we _knew_ there were alien spies amongst us, but couldn't figure out who they were. Incidentally, you were wrong about there not being any more of what you call 'PiT's,' or humans with the power of mental dominance. Some of them just didn't happen to be susceptible to Berklyn's blandishments regarding what the Ori could offer them. We know this because one of those PiT's happens to be working for us, and told us all about it. How do you think we knew about Berklyn in the first place?"

He smiled at the look of shock on the girl's face, knowing he'd scored a big point. "We couldn't take down Berklyn, he was just too powerful, and we needed to know who he represented since we also knew he wasn't human. But once we knew there were human mental dominants we had to find them and either co-opt or kill them before Berklyn could use them against us. Which is the _real_ reason we set up the harsh interrogation program in the first place.

"What we did wasn't pretty, but now you know _why_ we did it, and at the time there were no obvious alternatives. What happened to you really wasn't part of the approved drill, but I won't even pretend to be shocked that something like it happened. I seriously doubt you were the only victim of it either. The people who _will_ work in such places tend to be the very people you _don't want_ working in those places… but nobody else _will_. Naturally they'll have their own agendas, but so long as they gave us a few mental dominants –alien or otherwise-- we tended to turn a blind eye to whatever else they did. Not because we _approved_, but because we _didn't want to know_! The oversight to prevent such activities would have meant putting our own head's on the chopping block when the operation inevitably came to public scrutiny. I'm sure you will be positively _shocked_ to learn that those of us with the moral clarity and intestinal fortitude to propose such a system are surprisingly reluctant to take _responsibility_ for our actions once called to account for our decisions.

"And before you get all bend out of shape about it, I should also mention that we've been going over reports on your history from our agent on the other side of the Quantum Mirror. I am told that you yourself once tortured someone. Granted it was a vampire, but shoving a cross into the mouth of such a creature to make him talk seems a bit at odds with your demands that we not do anything so unpleasant."

Glaring at him, Buffy scowled as she recalled the incident. "I had _died_ a few months earlier. After Xander brought me back and I killed the Master, they let me go to LA for a few months to recover. Then suddenly I was sent back to monster-central. I was _sixteen years old_ and I was back in the place that had just killed me and I figured I didn't have much of a future so there was no point in caring and I proceeded to piss off all of my friends, denigrate those people giving me good advice, and turn away from the very things that made me good at what I did. Fortunately I came to my senses before I did anything unforgivably stupid.

"Can you say the same thing?"

His expression didn't changed, but Buffy got the impression that he _hadn't_ known the full story. She should have known Forrest would not go out of his way to put her in a good light. Actually, she _had_ known, but at the time he was the only one available who met the required constraints. This wouldn't be the last time he sent back information she'd just as soon these people didn't know.

Poker face or not, her explanation hit him hard. She was still just a _kid_, and she had already been though so much. But he had no choice but to put her through another Hell, because she left him no other option. The President wasn't so foolish as to believe he could force her to do what he needed her to do. She was too angry for that. He knew damned well that people who were tortured did not 'get over it.' Torture _cannot be undone_! It was an 'unforgivable offence,' like one of those Harry Potter curses.

Once again he cursed the one-term idiot he had succeeded into office only after his predecessor had set up policies he had been unable to change before they could come back to haunt him. They'd had some good ideas, but their implementation had _sucked_. Governing based on untested theories and extreme doctrine, they simply had not been capable of adapting when conditions on the ground altered in ways their theories hadn't predicted. Without any viable doctrine beyond their critically faulty theory, they'd simply run out the clock, leaving it for someone else to come in to clean up their mess. His original plan hadn't even been to challenge the sitting incumbent, but to position himself for a run four years later during the next election cycle. He'd intended to cut a deal with Kinsey, set him up as his VP, and exploit his money and connections until the twat did something stupid and he'd have been able to stab the bastard in the back with the political equivalent of a goddamned harpoon. Gross incompetence, fiscal insanity, rampant corruption, and the horrifying nightmare of what sort of clusterfuck that collection of dimwits would make of it should a _real_ disaster occur forced him to mount his challenge four years early.

It was unheard of to unseat an incumbent during wartime, but he'd blind-sided the bastard with revelations of illegal wiretapping and rampant cronyism. He won the nomination and the election, but with victory he'd inherited a collection of disastrous policies he hadn't been able to unravel even a year later. They included a Justice Department riddled with 'true believers' who valued ideology over liberty, a bitterly divided Congress, and a world which no longer trusted anything his country said or did. The finest army the world had ever known was being broken, asked to do a job it had never been designed to carry out, and alien enemies were lurking at the fringes of the solar system. Even if he fixed everything else he'd now likely have to face Kinsey's political machine for the nomination in less than two years. He'd stepped on too many powerful toes getting rid of the cronies put into positions well above their competency level by the previous moron to be confident that incumbency would be enough to get him re-nominated. Especially since he wasn't buying enough favors to make it worth their while to keep him in office.

To add insult to injury, due to those inherited policies, he was in no position to _demand_ that she do what he wanted. Normally, when the President of the United States asked an American citizen to do something, they _did_ it. When that citizen had been tortured by their own government, they had no compunction about telling him to go jump in a lake. The President already knew that the Slayer would refuse what he was going to ask of her. He'd often heard the phrase about '_the road to hell_…' but looking into the ancient green eyes highlighting her otherwise youthful face, he felt the true meaning of the expression crushing his very soul. When she refused, he knew he would do what he felt needed to be done, but already knew he would _not _enjoy the price he would have to pay to do it. But he would do it anyway, because he had no choice. "We have a chance to _change the world_, Buffy! People will try to stop us out of ignorance and jealousy and religious extremism. We can provide them an alternative, but they'll only consider that alternative if we give them a compelling reason to do so."

"You'll never convince them to go…"

"_I_ don't have to! '_Insh'allah_.' It is _God's Will _that they do so."

"I'm no expert, but isn't '_insh'allah'_ more of an existential thing, their way of saying 'whatever happens, it's God's will' and not 'God is _commanding_ me to do this?"

He shrugged. "Close enough. Because I intend to make it unequivocally clear that this is exactly what God _wants_ them to do. Or else."

Buffy snorted angrily. "And you were the one trying to make me say I was Chosen by God so you could twist it into proof of my delusions of grandeur!"

"_I_ would have known the difference between 'spin' and the actual facts of the situation! In this case, my target audience does _not_ know that difference. Are, in fact, unlikely to ever realize there _is_ a difference, or care about the subtle nuances of that difference! In my defense I should also say that Saddam actually _was_ working with the Goa'uld! Unfortunately Saddam wasn't exactly a big hero to most Arabs. To make this work we need to point the finger at someone more popular, closer to their heart, and prove that _he_ was manipulating them on behalf of an alien enemy. The only way to make them change their course of action is by convincing them that their most revered leaders are either aliens, or alien stooges, warping their minds and manipulating them for their own reasons!"

She met his eyes with a raised brow. "You expect them to believe that their religious leaders are aliens duping them into acting as terrorists?!"

Sighing, the President stood, collected his thoughts for a few seconds, and spoke without looking at her, obviously going over the arguments in his own head before speaking. "More or less, yes. If we can convince the extremists that the people pushing them to commit suicide bombing against _us_ are actually working for the _Goa'uld_, they'll be furious. Guess what, Buffy? One of the most senior Ayatolla's in Iran really _is_ a PiT! Granted, he's not working for the Ori. But he's using his mental powers to _make_ his followers commit terrorist acts. I don't think they are going to be too happy when they realize that. All we want is to give them religious justification for doing something that is in their own best interests!"

Buffy was no longer so certain he was completely wrong, but still doubted he was right. "Who told you this? Someone you _tortured_ for the information?! How do you know he didn't just tell you what you _wanted to hear_? That's what people being tortured tend to do, you know. Which is why nobody with any brains relies on information derived from torture."

Sighing, the President met her eyes. "We _did_ confirm it through other means. Well, confirm it as much as possible given our technical limitations at the time. Dammit, I know you wouldn't do it this way, Buffy! I know I'm manipulating people on a massive scale. That's the difference between you and me. You're a _hero_, charged with defending the people of the world from the monsters hiding in the shadows. My own mandate is somewhat more limited: I am here to take care of the _American_ people first, and everyone else _second_. And that is exactly what I intend to do."

He paused, and scowled in frustration. "It's not just the Arabs. If it was, I really _would_ just carpet-bomb the whole goddamned Middle East, and screw the consequences. But just as the rest of the world won't let us have exclusive use of the StarGate, they'd get all upset with me if I did something like that… it's way too much in the way of 'final solutions.' They don't see the problem in such stark terms. It's a cultural thing. Americans see Israel as Fort Apache; an isolated outpost of civilization surrounded by barbarians. Europeans look at the Palestinians and see an oppressed people who have nowhere else to go. The Europeans would respond… _badly_… if I just nuke them. But suppose we _do_ offer them somewhere else to go: their own _planet_! All they have to do is go out there and _take it_!

"People, especially Europeans, will give a bit of a break to a guy who does something stupid when they feel he has no alternative. American are less willing to put up with that crap, but that might be because we've got more elbow room than Europeans do. But if they refuse to take the alternative offered and _keep on_ doing stupid things, even Europeans tend to lose their patience pretty quickly. Which would leave me with a lot more freedom of action than I have right now. Anyone who refuses to use the StarGate to establish their perfect Islamic paradise on their own planet because it's just too difficult, but continues to commit terrorism on Earth, gets curb stomped! I mean _seriously_ fucked over. No restraint; no mercy. They had a chance to do something for themselves, but refused. That being the case they play by our rules, _or else_.

"Pretty much every

one will sign on with this. Even the damned Europeans! The StarGate gives us a relief valve for groups who feel oppressed and want a better deal for themselves, and an excuse to take the gloves off when dealing with terrorists who refuse to accept the available options. Even the people most likely to be affected –the Arabs—will accept it. They won't be _happy_ about it, but it will be enough to keep a lid on the sort of outrage that leads to global nuclear war. After all, _insh'allah_: if God didn't _wan_t them to take the option, He wouldn't have provided it." He paused, turning to face her, his demeanor changing as he began glaring angrily.

"At least, He _did_! Until the goddamn Asgard started talking about actual _proof_ of God's existence, missing for eons, suddenly turning up on the other side of the bloody Quantum Mirror! How many people do you think will buy into the idea that it is God's Will that they attack and take over Goa'uld planets when _God Himself_ is suddenly putting in an appearance in the _wrong fucking direction_?!"


	18. Chapter 17  Part 2

Chapter 17 - Part 2

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

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**Return To Normal**

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**Chapter Seventeen - Part 2**

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They had taken a bit of a break, each pouring something to drink, both considering what they had just heard and its implications. Buffy had a much better idea what was happening, but still needed a lot more information to determine what she should do about it. Backtracking a bit, her voice was much calmer after having had the opportunity to get control over her emotions. "I don't think the SGC is going to be too happy about having fifty million Middle Eastern emigrants trying to march through the StarGate every year… on top of the hundred million or so _Far_ Eastern refugees heading through it at the same time."

The President snorted. "The SGC won't have anything to say about it. As I explained, the main purpose of the StarGate will inevitably become a tool for emigration. Hell, there are a lot of people in _this_ country who would give their left nut for a chance to homestead on a virgin world half-way across the galaxy! Accommodating all their demands and mutually-opposing needs will be a real mess, and not something I want to waste the talents of the SGC on. It will involve a lot of negotiations and posturing and long-winded speechifying. Only something like the UN could handle the logistics and accommodate the pretentious gas-bags who might eventually cobble together some kind of treaty everyone can live with. Sooner or later we're going to have to turn management of the StarGate over to them. Oh, I'll fight it tooth and nail, don't worry! They _will_ pay an arm and a leg before I let them have the damned thing! They don't need to know that I have intention of keeping it in the first place."

Buffy stared at him in shock. "You _what_?!"

The President shrugged elaborately, smiling a bit smugly. "Just because _I_ don't want it doesn't mean I should just _give_ it away! Especially when so many other people need it so badly, and will be willing to pay so much to take it off my hands! Plus we can blame all the inevitable hold-ups in treaty negotiations, and the even _more_ inevitably crappy results, on the UN! They make as convenient a whipping boy for us as we do for the rest of the world. Hell, to placate my political base I'll say we won't turn it over until an actual treaty is signed, which might take years, given the various conflicting needs of all the countries involved. Which isn't quite what I told Thor when I suggested to the Asgard that they start discussing things with the EU, but I _did_ let him know that I wouldn't flat-out _refuse_ to give up the StarGate if they insisted."

This earned him a scowling glare. "_You_ suggested that Thor talk to the Europeans?! Everyone at the SGC is blaming _me_ for that!"

Without the slightest hint of embarrassment, the President nodded. "_Of course_ they'd suspect you! Why wouldn't they? You've got a direct line to the Asgard High Council. Only two other people can say that: O'Neill –who is too professional to pull a stunt like that without orders—and _me_. You don't think I'd do something likely to really piss off the Asgard without giving them a 'head's up,' do you? Even _I'm_ not that crazy! I haven't exactly 'discussed' it with them, but I haven't hidden it from them either. I wouldn't be surprised if that 'mp3' thing they gave you lets them listen in on everything you say, so if they somehow haven't gotten the message before this, they've likely heard what I just told you about my plans. They might not be overly happy with my assessment of their military skills, but I don't think they'll be surprised by it either. One good thing about the Asgard is that they don't tend to get bent out of shape over an honest opinion.

"As to _why_ I'm doing it, I needed _time_, and if the rest of the world thinks they can get what they want through negotiations it will buy me three, maybe four extra months. Time we'll need to get the development on the X-302 finished, and to begin construction on the X-303. _They_ are the reason I don't need the damned StarGate anymore! You see Buffy, what the Europeans –and the SGC-- don't realize is that naquadah mines on most planets linked to 'Gate system are just about played out. We have established mines on ten different planets, and after years of effort have extracted enough naquadah and trininum to begin construction on a grand total of _five_ ships! If we're going to stand up to the Goa'uld, we'll need dozens, if not _hundreds_ of warships. We need a better supply of naquadah. There are lots of other planets out there which _do_ have the resources we need, but they are not linked to the StarGate system. You need a _starship_ to get to them. Which is why the X-303 is going to be a lot more useful to us than the StarGate in the long run…" He smiled, and explained about the human-built version of a Goa'uld battleship.

The enthusiasm he was missing when it came to the StarGate was apparent when he talked about the hyperdrive vessels. "They're expensive as hell, but will probably end up saving us money on the Defense budget, since I can finally veto any new aircraft carriers. Just as an aside, let me tell you a dirty little secret: Those supercarriers we spend billions on? Put them up against an even halfway competent enemy and they are dead meat. The subs have gotten too good, and torpedoes have gotten even better. In exercises our carriers are being routinely 'sunk' by NATO subs. Worse yet, nothing burns my butt more than a Chinese sub suddenly surfacing in the middle of one of our carrier battle groups. Makes it real difficult to say we'll support Taiwan when stuff like that happens. But we keep building them because too many companies make too much money putting them together, and the Admirals want them. It's part of the image. Every one of them thinks, in his heart of hearts, that he's the reincarnation of Ray Spruance. They were the same damned way before Pearl Harbor forced them to understand that the carrier had made their precious _battleships_ obsolete. But things change, and I would dearly love to never build another useless carrier. The only way I can do it is I offer those interests profiting from their construction an even more tempting alternative:_starships_!"

His reverent tone only made Buffy frown. "So you're taking the StarGate from the Air Force, and not even giving them the starships? That'll go over well, especially when they find out the Navy will be taking over. Plus you're giving up the cheapest way to get to all the naquadah sources we know about, so the Navy will have to go looking for more. That doesn't sound too smart."

Once again, the President simply shrugged, not worried. "I'll be setting up an integrated Space Command to run the program, which will take people from all the services. Since the carrier or submarine provides a better model for the sort of ships we are building we may as well let the people who already know a similar process shake it out with the first ones. As for taking it from the Air Force, well, their own fault, really. Too many of the new Air Force officers think they're missionaries instead of soldiers. Way too much religious zeal and not nearly enough respect for civilian authority. A few of them have ended up being the worst of both worlds: _crusaders_. George keeps a firm handle on most of the offworld teams, but there have already been issues because some of them couldn't keep their personal beliefs out of doing their jobs. I warned them what would happen if they didn't put a sock in it, but they followed a 'higher calling,' so I'm turning it over to people who can actually follow orders. Once the crusaders are out of the picture, and the StarGate is someone else's problem, that will create opportunities for us to reaffirm our alliances and hopefully return us to our traditional position of neutral broker."

He paused, seeming to think about it before continuing. "We'll have to set up a new unit under Space Command to run day-to-day operations of those starships. I think the SGC has pretty much served its purpose. In truth, it's been redundant ever since the secret came out. They were an _exploration_ program, and we pretty much know what we're dealing with now. O'Neill has gotten his head back together and is ready to put on his star, and run the Space Force for me. Sam Carter is too good at research to be risking herself roaming through the 'Gate. We'll give her the biggest lab you've ever seen out at Area 51, let her muck around with every toy imaginable, and put her onboard a starship whenever she gets antsy. As for Hammond, well, I'm going to need _someone_ to command what will effectively become 'Home_world_' Security, and he has shown that he can handle pretty much anything I throw at him. Overall, I don't think the SGC is going to be too upset over being disbanded!"

He paused, then smiled at her, his expression somehow predatory despite it. "As for the naquadah, that is the lever I'm going to use to get foreigners to do things my way. Everybody will see the same opening you noted, and will be scrambling to secure their own supply of naquadah before _we_ can. They'll all remember the good old days of the Oil Cartel and think they can set one up behind our back. What they don't realize is that _I_ remember it too, and it _won't_ happen again on my watch. Do you remember that story of the 'disappearing asteroid,' the one some astronomers claimed was on a collision course with Earth but suddenly 'disappeared?' Don't worry if you don't recall it; we put a lot of effort into spiking the story. _Weeeellll_, it just so happens that a few months ago SG-1 was sent to divert an asteroid which just happened to have ten thousand _tons_ of refined naquadah buried in it courtesy of our friends the Goa'uld as a half-assed Doomsday weapon. That asteroid is now US Government property. It contains enough naquadah to supply our needs for the next ten years, and nobody knows we have it. So, short term? I got it covered."

Buffy couldn't believe how much she had underestimated this man. Ever since her beat down at the tentacles of the First she'd tried not to assume too much when it came to her opponents, but she'd figured than anyone willing to use torture as a tool had to be a barbarian. Maybe he was a barbarian; but that didn't mean he was a _fool_. Her shocked expression was so obvious the President smiled smugly, and crossed his arms over his chest in a casual display of manly arrogance. "If it makes you feel any better, no matter what reasons I use for giving up on the StarGate without a fight, my political opponents are going to crucify me for it. It doesn't compare to being tortured, but there's a certain _shadenfreude_ in knowing that I won't be punished for doing something horrible, but doing what's best for my country is going to be career suicide for me.

"There are people in Washington who say with a straight face that 'American Exceptionalism' means that we should be on top, even if that mean unilaterally declaring war on any power which might challenge us. Those same people will insist that I keep the StarGate, even if I have to fight a _nuclear war_ to do it, regardless of the fact that I don't even _want_ it, out of some idiotic macho posturing over outraged national pride! Unfortunately for me, a lot of people will agree… especially after it's a done-deal, and it's all academic so they don't have to back up their belligerent posturing in the real world where the Chinese have real nukes. My career will be finished. I'm not sure if I can even avoid being impeached. But it's the _right thing to do_! And I _will_ do it."

He moved to the front of the desk, resting his butt on it, facing Buffy, his expression earnest. "I'm _sorry_ you were tortured! I really am. But you got caught up in something so big that once the process was approved we lost all control. I _needed_ those mental dominants to make my plan work, and there was no other way to get them. The plan itself is a good one. Even if the _means_ are sometimes abhorrent, the _objective_ isn't. We have to do_something_ about the terrorism issue, and to address it I need to provide those who would use it as a tool with an alternative. The terrorists are as much a threat to us as the Goa'uld. Maybe not in terms of raw firepower, but more due to the nature of our response to the threat they represent. Because it is a fundamental truth that we_have no choice_ but to respond.

"My predecessor screwed up by lying, but his stupidity doesn't change the fact that he was right about the _threat_. You said something really important, back when the Goa'uld were invading and the scientists wanted to let them have a free shot at us instead of fighting back, since it might create fewer total casualties. You said '_Nobody comes to my home, hurts my family, and just walks away afterwards. Nobody gets a free shot while I just hide and hope the cavalry arrives in time to save me. Some things you just have to stand up for_.' 9//11 was like an attack on _our house_, and we reacted like you would on an attack on _yours_."

Buffy met his pleading expression with a frown. "I said I'd punish the group that did it. I _wouldn't_ go after some random group I've had my eye on for awhile but never had a good enough excuse to slap down."

He sighed audibly. It was an old argument. "Yeah, you're not the first person to point that out. We needed to take out Iraq anyway because of their plans to build a StarGate for the Goa'uld, and when the suggestion was tossed out, at the time it made a lot of sense. Nobody realized what it would end up costing us, and that lack of forethought lead to a completely botched execution. Now we're close to losing two wars against opponents who don't even have flush toilets. A lot of American soldiers –and even more American _citizens_!—just don't see much point in dying to keep two tribes of medieval theocratic nutjobs from killing each other.

"Nor can we get anyone else to help out. The UN normally handles peace-keeping operations, but once the lies came out, no other country was willing to sacrifice their soldiers to bail us out of a mess of our own creation. I wish the previous administration had thought through some of their more outrageous decisions, in particular going well out of their way to piss off our allies, but those decisions weren't made out of malice. Stupidity, incompetence, and arrogance maybe; but not _malice_. They were real big on the idea of Divine Right of Presidents, because they felt that the dangers we would soon face from the Goa'uld required a clear-cut chain of command. The way they tried to enforce it didn't work out so well. But if we do this right, then maybe something good can come out of the worst of those decisions."

Rubbing his face with obvious irritation, the President scowled at the situation. The actual invasion of Iraq to prevent Saddam from building a 'Gate for the Goa'uld had been a no-brainer, but the follow-up had been a disaster, stupidity on top of arrogance all wrapped up in greed. Incompetence, without accountability to temper the idiocy, had inevitably led to catastrophe. It hadn't been _his_ administration that screwed up, but he was the one left holding the bag and trying to figure out a way to resolve the mess once he won the office. Under the circumstances he'd done the best he could. At least he could comfort himself with the knowledge that when the levees broke in New Orleans after the Goa'uld strike in the Gulf, he'd had good people at FIMA to deal with the aftermath. There wasn't a lot he could do about the monumental incompetence at the municipal or state level, but when it hit the fan, _his_ team had been ready. He didn't even want to think about what might have happened had his predecessors' cronies still been in charge.

When he resumed speaking, he words seemed intended more for himself than directed to her. "It really bugs the hell out of me that a total bastard like Kinsey is not just going to become President some day, but he's going to be regarded as a 'great' President… while I'm going to be listed with the losers like Buchannan and Harrison and that other idiot. Kinsey honestly thinks he should be in charge because he's '_strong enough to make the tough decisions_' and he '_won't be pushed around_.' What a fucking _joke_! He's the human equivalent of a brick wall! Obstinate, unyielding, incapable of adapting or acting with discretion. He'll piss off our allies by being an insulting prick. He'll further enrage our enemies by being an arrogant buffoon. And _he's_ the future of American politics! You'd think we would have learned our lesson by now, but when people feel threatened, they instinctively seek out anyone who says he's strong enough to protect them. Whether he is or not.

"Seriously, Buffy, _the man is going to be President_! Just look at the way he spun his relationship with Berklyn. My God, the guy was in the hip pocket of an _alien spy_ and has convinced people that _he_ was the victim, not responsible for his actions due to mind control! What a load of crap! My predecessor was an idiot and my successor will be a moron. Which means I've got less than _two years_ to actually resolve this situation so that even _he_ can't fuck it up! I do realize there isn't much that will cause you to make stupid decisions more than the belief that you can't trust your successor not to screw things up, but in this case we're talking about _Kinsey_! He_will_ fuck it up! The son of a bitch has never touched anything in his life and _not_ fucked it up! To do what had to be done I had to use shortcuts and pull every dirty trick I could think of. I am _not_ a nice guy, and I didn't get this far by thinking small. We've been debating what to do about this for nearly six years now. The time for debate is over. The matter _will_ be resolved before I leave office."

Buffy recognized that the scale of the problem didn't lend itself to simple solutions. She also understood that he was correct in that the problem _did_ need to be addressed. But she was also experienced enough to know that his plan probably wouldn't work. It was too elaborate, too dependant on nobody figuring out what was happening behind the scenes. Plus, she figured the knowledge that terrorists who were caught would be subject to torture made them that much more determined to become suicide bombers. Given the alternative, why not go out with a bang? But it didn't fall within her purview as the Slayer, so it wasn't her call. More importantly, she didn't have any better ideas to offer in its place. All she could do was warn him that someone would eventually talk. Someone always did. "They'll find out, you know. The Arabs. The Chinese. And they'll be furious. It's always the _lies_ that piss people off. And in the end, the lies always come out."

He snorted at her in the closest he had come to expressing contempt. "The lies don't 'always' come out, Buffy. Sometime they do, and yeah, it's a real disaster when that happens. But you would be surprised at how often they _don't_ come out." He paused for a second, before looking straight into her eyes. "_Very_ surprised."

She thought about asking, but didn't. She didn't really want to know. "It will when there are this many people involved. All of the people doing the torturing will know they aren't really dealing with aliens. I would assume that anyone willing to torture other people isn't going to be the most reliable employee in terms of discretion. One of _them_ will talk."

The President shrugged, snorting contemptuously. "They're _torturers_! Fuck 'em. They're scum. Nobody will believe them. And, well, you don't think I intend to just let them _talk to the media_ once this hits the front page, do you?! Once the story gets out –even if I have to leak it myself-- I will be positively 'shocked and appalled' by what these assholes have been doing in the name of National Security, and I will immediately ship every last one of the sorry sons of bitches to the farthest shithole planet the StarGate can reach… before any of them can say a word."

When he met her eyes, Buffy realized that she was looking at a predator even more dangerous than herself. She was so used to searching for physical threats that she had forgotten that humanity had worked its way to the top of the food chain not due to_physical_ strength, or even due to raw intelligence, but mostly due to _cunning. _People, in general, were sneaky. Some were sneakier than others. She might just be looking at the sneakiest of them all. "Why tell me? I might warn them."

He met her eyes steadily. "What we did to you was a disgrace. You know it, and I know it. Despite that, I'm not going to stop it, even though I know it will probably happen again to people who are just as innocent as you were. I still need the people that program uncovers to be used in a major diplomatic _lie_. When I'm forced to finally pull the plug on the operation, I'm going to betray the people I let do it without the slightest pause or hesitation. I know what I am, Buffy; but I also know what you are. Hammond was right; you really_are_ a _hero_. You _won't_ tell anyone about this. I've been keeping a close eye on you ever since you arrived on our radar screen, and I have a pretty good idea there is a line you will not cross unless someone makes you. I am well aware that you could blow us out of the water any time you wanted just by releasing that tape of your interrogation. But you _haven't_, because you knew what would happen if you _did_.

"I have a fairly good idea of how much you must want to use that tape to show the world what we did to you, to show why you don't trust us, to demand that those who did it be punished, but you have the strength of character to put your own feelings aside for the greater good. It's the same reason you never slapped your father down for being an asshole. It might make you feel better, for awhile, but you figure the long-term consequences wouldn't justify any momentary pleasure you might receive from doing it. So unless I force you to do it, you won't release that tape. And you won't tell anyone what I've just told you. Because you know damned well what would happen if you did.

"That being said, although Hammond might be right about the world needing heroes, the truth is, you'd _suck_ at my job! Politics does _not_ reward the righteous. I don't know what it says about us that our leaders are the dirtiest, meanest, most egomaniacal, conniving bastards we can find, but there you go. People don't even have much of a problem with it, so long as our less-pleasant aspects are combined with _competence_.

"I might be a _bastard_, Buffy, and a liar, and a back-stabber; but I am _not_ a fool! Truthfully, I'm pretty sure this First bitch is as big a threat as you claim she is. But _I_ can't do a thing about her… that's _your_ job. _Mine_ is to protect this country from threats I _can_ do something about. Which is where we run into our little problem. If I let you use the Key to kill the First, I _won't_ be able to do that. Not with the goddamned Asgard telling everyone that the Key is 'proof of the existence of God!' How people so smart could be so _stupid_…"

He paused, taking a moment to silently glare at the absent Asgard before resuming. "I'd lose my political base, and wouldn't have the political capital to push giving up the StarGate through Congress. If we _don't_ give up the StarGate, we will be at war very shortly. I'm talking missiles flying within a matter of_weeks_, not months! Things are _that_ close to the edge. Even our closest allies are abandoning us, because politically _they have no choice_! We are _thisclose_ to exploding out into the galaxy as the Fifth Race, but there is a real good chance it won't happen because of issues of pride and mistrust and religion and ambition.

"I _can't_ let that happen, Buffy. I just_can't_! If I let you do what you think you need to do to defeat the First, the wheels come off and we're fucked! Sorry to be so indelicate, but that's a pretty accurate description. We've got enough toys that we'll probably survive. But we can forget any of that 'Fifth Race' stuff! I am _not_ going to be the man who goes down in history as having had the chance to lead Humanity to the stars, but instead got billions of people killed in some idiotic medieval religious crusade! All that is stopping me from making this work is your little showdown with the First. I _need_ you to come up with another way to fight it! One that doesn't involve the Key. I don't just _need_ this, Buffy: I _must have it_!"

She shook her head. "There _is_ no other way. The First is a _god_. Nothing else will work."

"_Figure! Something! Out_!" He was in her face, leaning towards her, hands clenched into fists, his intensity almost palpable. Had he been doing it for intimidation purposes Buffy would have gotten violent. But his fear wasn't for himself. It was only then that she realized the pressure he was under, the effort he had been exerting to hide how close to the edge everything really was. "The Asgard think you're the greatest thing since sliced bread. _Ascended_ races are marching to your tune, for crissakes! If _they_ all think you're such a military genius, then you should be able to come up with another plan!"

Had the situation been any less intense, Buffy would have laughed at him. "I'm no '_genius_,' military or otherwise! They want me to do this because I know where the Key is! That is pretty much the _only_ reason I'm involved! _Jack_ came up with about 90 of the plan we're using. Surely you can't think that _beating a god_ is _easier_ than coming to an agreement with other _people_?!"

He shrugged, frustrated, and finally showing just how afraid he truly was. "Hell yes! Humans are _idiots_! You simply _can't_ negotiate with religious extremists… and I'm not just talking about the Moslem ones here! Dammit Buffy, we've got retards running for President who explicitly claim that the world is _flat_ and the sun revolves around the _earth_! How can you 'negotiate' with brain-dead imbeciles like that?! If there was any wiggle room on my end I'd take it. There isn't. _None_! They simply _will not_ compromise on this. Which means _you_ have to, because I am _not_ going to let you save the universe by allowing _my country_ to be destroyed! I know that makes me a self-centered bastard, but there you go. _I_ never claimed to be a hero! I don't see much reason to save the universe only to have it dominated by the Chinese. And believe me, if you saw the way they ran things, you wouldn't either."

There was a moment of silence as they glared at each other, neither budging. Finally, the President sighed. "I've seen your plan, Buffy, but unlike most people I know it's a brilliantly conceived, meticulously detailed, and probably somewhat useful _distraction_. The ninety percent of it that Jack wrote very conspicuously does not include details on exactly _how_ you intend to use the Key during your final confrontation with the First. O'Neill knows that too, but since he signed off on the final document he must trust you enough to think you can do what you say you can do. Neither of us under-estimate you, and I don't think we're _over_-estimating you either. Don't try to kid a kidder. I'm not falling for that brainless Valley-Girl crap. You know _exactly_ what you're doing, and you can't tell me the way you _prefer_ to do it is the _only_ way it can be done! There _has_ to be another way, and _you_ have to come up with one! All I'm asking for is a _delay_! Just a few months. A year or two, tops. This thing with the First has been building for thirteen _billion_ goddamn years, Buffy! Why does it have to come to a head right now?!"

"Because this is when the First _wants_ it to happen!"

He combed his fingers through his thinning silver hair, his frustration obvious, his desperation almost palpable. "You're putting us in a very dangerous position over something which isn't our responsibility! This is happening in another goddamn _universe_! It should be handled by local forces, or the ascended races who want this to happen! This _isn't our war_!"

Buffy kept her voice low and controlled, but inside she was almost crying. How could things have gotten so screwed up? "It won't be your peace either, if you won't help your allies. All of you are so desperate to be seen as the 'Fifth Race,' a player in interstellar affairs, but the first time they want you to show some initiative, you cave. If you won't do this I wouldn't expect too much in the way of cooperation from the Asgard or anyone else after this."

The President was well aware of that point, and knew what it would end up costing them if she agreed to do as he asked. But he still felt that it beat the alternative. "There won't _be_ an 'after this' if I let you do what you want! Dammit Buffy, do you think I _like_ this?! Do you think this is what I _want_?! Politics is all about trade-offs, 'the art of the possible,' making the best deal you can given the options you have available. This is the best I can do! You can't use the Key as a weapon of _war_! _You just can't_! This isn't just some Christian fundamentalist issue._Every_ religious leader is jumping on the bandwagon. You've got what even the Asgard consider to be a _religious_ icon, one that every religious group on earth is now trying to claim as their own, and all of them are milking it for all its worth. People are being overwhelmed with the news concerning the StarGate, interstellar war, the imminent changes to our economy due to the introduction of alien technologies, and they are scared out of their minds! A lot of them are praying for guidance from which ever God they believe in. Doing something overtly _sacrilegious_ at a time like this is just too much for them to handle!

"If I let you do this the Moslems would use it as justification for _jihad_, and my Christian supporters would probably _help_ them! I'll be impeached, and it won't be long before someone like Kinsey would be sworn in, and he'd tell everyone that things were going to be done_his_ way, and if anyone didn't like it they could kiss his pasty white ass. Guess how well that will go over, even amongst our_allies_? That is the best case scenario, in that it doesn't call for _immediate_ nuclear war! I can _prevent_ it from happening, but only if _you_ change your plans. You _have_ to come up with another way! _You can't use the Key_! Not for something like _this_! You can't even be in the _same room_ when the team _I_ will assign to this duty confronts the First.

"If that's not good enough, well, I suppose I can't stop you from using the Asgard Mirror. But we know the address for your home-world now, and I can't guarantee you that someone won't_warn the First_ if you go off on your own. I know that comes across as a threat, and I suppose it is one, but it is also a reality you can't ignore. I'm _desperate_, and I'll do whatever I have to in order to stop this happening."

He got up from his perch on the desk, moved over to where she sat, and got down on his knees until his eyes were level with hers. He knew she could kill him with one finger, but right about then that was the _least_ of his concerns. Grasping one of her hands, he squeezed tightly. "I am told that in her time, one of your allies on the other side of the Mirror was almost as powerful as the First. I am also told that Major Carter thinks there is a way to reactivate her powers, using something called a 'Mutari Generator.' Now I know you're pretty damned special, and they want you leading this for a lot more reasons than just because 'you know where the Key is,' but there is no way you have even a fraction of the power of this '_Illyria_' creature once possessed. Let _her_ fight the First! Come up with a plan that will bring the two of them together at just the right time for them to battle it out. The SGC has already gamed this out. From what O'Neill tells me, if they fight after this 'activation spell' thing is _de_activated, the First will be trapped in your old body, and if Illyria kills her she will become incorporeal once more. Once incorporeal, she can't do whatever it is she intends to do to destabilize the universe. You're _psychic_. You can see the damned _future_! You –and _only_ you!—can time it so that it works out just right. _Make it happen_!"

Buffy could understand why the plan he was proposing would be far preferable to the one she was advancing…to _him_. Unfortunately it had several huge drawbacks. "If Illyria loses, we're all _dead_. And she _will_ lose! Even if she somehow does win, the First will still be able to retaliate. It controls nuclear weapons on my old world. Millions of people will die on that Earth when they are detonated in revenge. The First will be furious, and will know how to find you. The Ancients and Asgard will be furious, and they _already_ know how to find you. My Earth will be furious, and they have magic and will be able to find you soon enough. If we do it your way, you might buy a little time. But you'll be working your way out of a _political _problem by setting yourself up for a much bigger _military_ problem! You won't have any allies, _everyone_ will hate you, and you'll have cost us the one chance we had of actually _beating_ this thing. Don't you even _care_?!"

He almost snarled in frustration. "Of course I _care_! But it's a judgment call. It's also _my_ call! I heard about what you said about us not giving anyone else a vote, but I _was_ voted in, and that makes me the senior _elected_ official on the spot. Who are you, Buffy? What are the demarcations of your authority as the Slayer? I know governments suck at a lot of things. But let me tell you,_dictators_ are a lot worse! This decision affects millions, if not _billions_ of people, yet you're claiming the right to make that decision for all of us. _Wrong_! You don't! It's_my_ call, and I'm making it. You're talking about a lot of stuff that _might_ happen. I'm talking about things that _will_ happen! Given my _certain_ disaster versus your _possible_ calamity, I'll take my chances on the calamity, and hope for the best."

The President was good at reading people. His success depended on it. For the first time, he saw that he was getting through. In a way, he was surprised. His hand was pretty weak. With the Asgard backing her, there was no way he could force her to do his bidding. He had to admit she had very good reasons for refusing to even listen to anything he had to say. It left a bad taste in his mouth whenever he had to exploit the fact that the person across the table was more ethical than he was, and could be manipulated by their own sense of fairness. He still didn't know if he'd actually won his argument, but he knew enough about human nature to know that he'd pushed as hard as he could. The rest was up to her. Trying to force it any more would only force her to get her back up, and refuse out of spite.

She was just a kid. He felt dirtier than hell for exploiting her own values and basic decency, but he'd done things a lot worse. And almost certainly would do so again in the not so distant future. If they had one.

The devastated look on her face almost broke him, but the President remained silent as she looked up at him. "The First is stronger than Illyria. A _lot_ stronger. It would be _suicide_! What you're asking would kill us all, you know."

He was a politician. A very _good_ politician. Everything he had just told her had been true. It simply hadn't been the whole truth. There was another reason he needed Buffy to agree to his demands. He knew that if he didn't enforce his authority at this point, neither he nor his successors would ever get it back from subsequent slayers. "I know what I'm asking. I realize the potential cost. I also realize that you are in a position where you can tell me to go to hell, and there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop you from doing just that. But if you _do_, it is something neither of us can _undo_. We'd never be able to work together again, and by 'we' I mean the US government and any slayers Called after you. If you don't do what I ask, then you are effectively saying that _your_ authority supersedes _mine_, whenever you decide it does, on whatever issues you decide falls within your purview. Just as other countries won't accept the US keeping the StarGate to ourselves, _I_ can't accept the slayer demanding what amounts to a veto over my decisions. Do what I ask, and I'll give you everything else I possibly can. I'll give you the very best we have to offer. I'll give you the _SGC_! I promise you, nobody else you can get to help you will be even half as good."

That last statement was so obviously true there was nothing Buffy could say to counter it. Never had she felt more pressured. Not even during those horrible last days preparing to face the First, when she had so completely lost it the Potentials had kicked her out of her own house rather than follow her increasingly insane demands. At the time she'd suspected Kennedy might have been behind it, blaming her for everything, undermining her authority in order to get the other Potentials to look to Willow as their leader. Given how messed up Willow had been back then, that would have left Kennedy herself with _de facto_ control of the group. Faith had been so careful to defer to Buffy, proving to them both that she was there to help and not there to cause trouble, that Kennedy had likely assumed she simply didn't want the position. Faith's immediate assumption of command had probably taken Kennedy completely by surprise, and there had been nothing she could do about it. But even if it hadn't been deliberately engineered by Kennedy, Buffy had to agree that she had been so adamant in her orders, so unwilling to listen to anyone else's opinions, that they'd had little choice but to do something drastic.

More than anything else, she was concerned that she was doing the exact same thing once again, for the exact same reasons. She still felt that he was wrong. She still thought her strategy was the best one possible for defeating the First. What she wasn't so certain of any more was that she had the right to _demand_ that they accept her plan. It was possible that her strategy wasn't the _only_ one which stood a chance of defeating the First. Partly, she knew, it was just the confusion he had managed to engender in her mind, questioning her morality and the ethics of her decisions. Had she been a regular General commanding a regular battle he would never have done so. On the other hand, had she been a 'regular General commanding a regular battle,' he would have been within his rights to relieve her of command, and continue doing so until he found a General who agreed to do what he wanted them to do.

Back in Sunnydale the lines of demarcation had been pretty clear. She handled the supernatural, while the police handled the natural. The First might be a creature of the supernatural, but it now had enormous influence within the natural world. Given that reality, Buffy was no longer certain she held uncontested authority over all matters relating to the disposition of the First. Her own experiences with the government in this world, and the Initiative back home, had showed her clearly that governments were incompetent when dealing with the supernatural. They were like the Watchers Council, only with less relevant expertise. They demanded authority, without accepting accountability when their decisions led to tragic consequences.

His excuses for permitting a program to exist which allowed agents of the State to torture people did not –_could not_—change the fact that he was engaging in a horrific, barbaric, and morally wrong practice. How many innocent lives had been destroyed before they found the mental dominant they were seeking? His reasons for his country going into Iraq did not change the fact that he hadn't pulled those troops out again once his objective had been obtained, and had left that country a shattered, ungovernable mess. Even more to the point, the conduct of that war did not give her any confidence in his judgment when it came to fighting _her_ war. Granted that his predecessor had started the disaster in Iraq, but a lot of good people were dying while he dithered trying to figure out what he was going to do about it. To her it was pretty simple: go in, get the job done, leave. Instead they had gotten ambitious, seeking to impose their own solution on an intractable local problem. They had deluded themselves with idiotic assumptions and fanciful dreams, ignored any facts they found inconvenient, and had ended up making their country a laughing stock, an object lesson in hubris and the dangers of living in a fool's paradise.

_This_ was the group who demanded the final say in how to fight the First?!

The problem was that he was _right_ about what it would mean for any future dealings between the slayer and the government. They would not forget, and never forgive, if she went over their heads and told the Asgard she was going with Plan B. Buffy tried to comfort herself with the thought that at least they'd _have_ a future if she defeated the First, which wasn't likely to happen if she went with his stupid plan.

Except he was telling her pretty clearly that they _wouldn't_ have much of a future if her actions led to a global war. After all her bitching about the stupid mistakes the government had made in Iraq, she was doing the _exact same thing_; ignoring the political implications of her actions, not considering the probable fallout of her seemingly simple desire to resolve a specific problem. That problem needed solving, but she couldn't simply dismiss his warning of the possible consequences of unilaterally proceeding with her plan, or she would be no better than those she held in such contempt for their foolishness of invading a country without listening to the warnings of those with different views. She needed to consider his claim that even if she simply disappeared and told the Asgard she was going with Plan B, the repercussions of that decision might be enough to cause people to go to war. Like the assassination of Arch-Duke Ferdinand, her seemingly trivial decision could spiral into catastrophic consequences.

Back home in Sunnydale, before things had gone so terribly bad, she'd been able to attend university for one glorious semester. 'Glorious' not so much outside of the classroom, but within the halls of academia she had been able to study philosophy and ethics and history, subjects which had become important to her due to her destiny, if not out of natural curiosity. The rights and obligations of the citizen, the limits to power, the aberrations of extremist behavior on society and its consequences, were all issues pertinent to her unnatural situation. She wasn't stupid, but certified geniuses had been considering such matters for millennia, and she wanted to know their thoughts. Unfortunately real-world events had interrupted her education, and although she'd tried to continue reading up on the subjects after she was forced to leave school her spare time had been extremely limited. Once again she wished she had somehow made the time, because the answers might come in rather handy right now given the decision she needed to make.

Either choice could have devastating consequences for millions of people. How had it come to this? Who was she to make decisions of such profound consequence? As always, it came down to the fact that she was the Slayer. The whole 'destiny' thing. She couldn't even _not_ make a choice, because that would in itself be a choice. It wasn't right, and it wasn't fair, but it was the way things were, and crying about it would not change that reality. Her eyes were haunted by the crushing weight of responsibility as she looked over at the man who had just placed the survival of millions of people on her slender shoulders. "I need some time to think about it."

Not at all surprised, he simply nodded. "Your call. I wish I could offer some advice. Something that would sound profound and wise. Nothing really comes to mind. No matter what you decide, it's going to hurt like hell. Believe me, I know." He wanted to say more, something which might convince her to do what he wanted, but he forced himself to leave it there. He'd pushed as hard as he could. The rest was up to her.

She seemed to appreciate the consideration. What he had permitted to be done to her would forever diminish him in her eyes. Due to his actions, and inactions, he would never be 'her' President. But he was still _the_ President. And he wasn't the ogre she had expected either. "You're not what I expected, Mr. Hayes."

Smiling, he got back to his feet, absently straightening any minor creases in his sleeves. "Call me Henry. 'Mr. Hayes' is still my father. It turns out we have something in common after all! My Old Man was a bit of a jerk too…"

--

The First smiled in satisfaction. It had taken quite some time to trace the physical properties of the elements making up Rupert Giles' 'cd player' back to a universe which displayed an identical mathematical signature, but it had finally managed to do so. And once it looked around, it struck pay dirt. _Billions_ of nearly identical devices, being used by primitive corporeal lifeforms in a war against a semi-ascended race known as the Ori. The Ori had been a powerful race, and would have made a worthy adversary. After observing them for awhile, the First had determined that they were unlikely to be allies of the Powers That Be. They fell solidly on the 'evil' side of the Great Game, and would have been far too intimidated by the First to dare act in any way likely to merit a display of its displeasure. They were capable of constructing such a device, unlike those who were now rebelling against their domination. It seemed likely that the primitives had received the device from the same unseen enemy who had given it to Giles.

Leaving the Ori to their minor civil war as invisibly as it had arrived, the First sought out the local counterpart to Earth, and quickly discovered the secret they had been trying to hide with the Ori distraction: _Buffy Summers was still alive_!

Not just a parallel version, but the original, the one who shared the memories of the individual whose body she now inhabited. One who possessed the 'soul' of the body now occupied by the First. One who obviously intended to seek a rematch to avenge her defeat. Once again, the First just barely managed to control its rage before striking out in vengeful fury. In order to 'save' Buffy the way they had, numerous ascended races in multiple universes had to be in on the conspiracy. While corporeal it did not have the power to crush them all. They, on the other hand, could derail its plans any time they wished to do so, simply by destroying the human race. The fact that they hadn't already done so suggested pretty strongly that the Elder Gods intended to fight it out this time, unlike so many other times in the past. They would do so only if they thought they possessed an advantage, a secret weapon the First didn't know about.

Almost smirking at the ludicrousness of them thinking that _Buffy Summers_ of all moronic creatures constituted an actual _threat _, let alone a 'secret weapon,' the First none the less was very careful to leave no trace that it had ever been there when it withdrew its consciousness from that universe, and returned it to its corporeal shell. Lashing out in anger would only force them to defer the final confrontation one more time. To such creatures destroying the human race would be a simple exercise. One they would surely carry out should they learn that their farcical 'secret weapon' had been revealed to the First. This way the First knew what it was facing, knew where the threat would come from. But its opponents had no idea it knew their secret. They were in for quite a surprise.


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

--

**Return To Normal**

--

**Chapter Eighteen**

--

In the days following the President's visit to Cheyenne Mountain, the plan to fight the First came under ever-increasing scrutiny by the media and the public at large. Information regarding the Key was leaked, and an already-bad situation exploded. Facts were few and far between, but what was known was that the Asgard –the very race pushing them to get involved in the fight—insisted that the Key was 'proof of God's existence.' The Asgard were _not_ a religious species. There had already been considerable debate in churches around Colorado Springs on where they stood in God's Plan. Until that comment most of the major religions had looked upon them with some concern over their agnostic attitude. The idea that even _they_ would look upon the Key as of Divine origin was a major revelation. The thought of the Slayer using such a device as an Instrument of Death was a horrific one.

Already reluctant to get involved in any war against an opponent as powerful as the First, very few people were prepared to support her when they learned how she intended to fight it. Once the President had brought it to her attention, Buffy could no longer ignore the intensity of the demands that she not be permitted to perform what even non-Christians considered to be an act of 'sacrilege.' Buffy could not doubt their passion or the depth of their feelings on the matter. She just wanted to explain her intentions, and the consequences of _not_ acting. But even if she could give her side, nobody would listen. Mostly, nobody cared about those aspects. To most people it wasn't _their_ war, and it didn't seem worth the price of potentially irritating God Himself just to take down some crazy bitch who wanted to 'destroy the universe.'

Very few people believed in her whole 'destroy the universe' nonsense. It was obviously _waaaay_ over the top, the sort of ploy devised by comic-book villains, and was being used only to force them to comply with her demands. The obvious response to such blackmail was simply to say 'no.' To refuse to be bullied, to make it clear they were not lackeys who could be ordered about by someone who insisted on calling herself a 'foreigner,' even if she claimed that her _real_ country was an alternate version of America. Perhaps a simple 'no' in response might have gone over better, but it was too civilized for the times. As was usual with 'debates' given the poisoned political atmosphere, there was no 'discussion,' no exchange of ideas. Only histrionic vitriol directed at anyone who dared suggest any opinion which differed from their own. On both sides. Any time a poor deluded innocent attempted to interject a note of civility or caution into the argument they were ridiculed until only the most extreme elements remained to shout past each other, neither side convincing anyone who did not already agree with them, neither side caring. It was political theater, solving nothing, tearing the country to pieces along sectarian lines as anyone who disagreed with anything was crushed for their disgraceful breach of doctrine. No apostasy was tolerated, no matter how trivial the breach in discipline, no matter how debatable the issue being argued.

Much was made of the passion being displayed by all sides arguing the issue, with more than a few claims on talk shows or internet chat boards that it was due to 'mental dominants' spewing hatred and dissention in preparation for renewed Ori aggression. Unable to leave the Mountain because of threats being made against her, Buffy could not tell anyone what she knew to be the truth, and was no longer even certain she wanted to. No one would listen anyway. This wasn't being imposed from outside. This was simply the fight the country had been heading towards since the revelation concerning the StarGate. A stark choice between maintaining the status quo, or unleashing a radical change which would affect all aspects of society.

Things went from bad to worse when a bombshell was dropped into the middle of the national rant: a report leaked from within the SGC acknowledging that her sister's group –the people who were supposed to be the Good Guys, and their _allies_—had used a missile to take out her opponents, despite those people being _slayers_ who had been at mass in a _church_, resulting in hundreds of casualties. Video was shown of what appeared to be an older, more mature looking Buffy accusing the Ronin of slaughtering hundreds of_children_. Other reports of their terrorist tactics, until then dismissed as propaganda, were suddenly being given a second look by a Congressional committee to see how much of it might actually be true. The claim by the other universes' government that they were only using harsh tactics because they were fighting a domestic insurgency resonated with a population who were already horrified by the bloodbath occurring in Iraq.

What little support she had previously enjoyed effectively disappeared. Even those people who weren't adamantly opposed to their intervention for religious reasons agreed that there were too many unknowns, it wasn't _their_ war, and it would be better to just stay out of it.

Even the SGC had been horrified by her actions –although they were even more livid that the information had been 'leaked' by their oversight committee-- until Dawn sent through a series of letters giving full details on what had really been happening inside the First's Retreat. Dawn also communicated that the Ronin had been forced to go to ground after the attack, as the First had unleashed its entire resources in order to wipe them out. They had disbanded into isolated cells. Most of her girls had been sent to study at universities around the country, their age allowing them to blend in with the population. One letter detailed how some of them had been captured by the First's slayers, as certain girls could detect other slayers, but there was no discernable pattern they could discover as to who could detect whom, or why they couldn't detect others. Full details were included so that Sam Carter could look into it and see if she could spot a common factor which Dawn's group had missed.

None of those details were released to the public, nor were Buffy's claims of there being no more PiT's, both for the same reason. The story was being spun in order to suit the political narrative, no matter that it made her and Dawn look worse than the enemy they had no choice but to fight. Buffy was furious, and frustrated, and tired of having to explain just how dangerous the First actually was. It almost reached the point where she considered releasing her incriminating tape, despite the President's belief that she would never do so, just so they would quit looking at her as the Bad Guy. Given what he was doing to her, she told herself that it would merely be retaliating in kind.

In the end she held off. Not out of any concern over his stupid threat to warn the First. Dawn's slayers still had their end of the Quantum Mirror under complete control, as she had casually mentioned in one of her letters. The SGC had already known that some unauthorized people had managed to go through their Mirror. None had ever returned. When finally asked about it, Dawn had stated that they were interrogated under a mystical compulsion to tell the truth, then placed in magical stasis afterwards. She very tellingly did not say what she had learned, or when those people would be returned. Everyone got the message. The infiltration attempts ceased very quickly.

There were other, more overwhelming, reasons not to release the video report of her torture sessions. Unfortunately the President was right about the consequences of releasing that tape. It would be like dropping a nuclear bomb to quell a knife fight. Acting out of petulant spite would set in motion forces she would be powerless to control. The President was not an evil man, and wasn't acting out of political posturing or even exclusively out of self-interest. He was trying to_protect his country_, and setting the rest of the world –and many worlds outside of it-- against him for it seemed not just disproportionate, but downright _stupid_. But despite knowing how bad the long-term consequences would be, there were more than a few times, as she watched the news, when she couldn't help but imagine how satisfying it would be to let _him_ be the target of the sort of media witch hunt she was experiencing.

Her other option was to accept them at their word, call up the Asgard, and wash her hands of this place. Unfortunately such an option presented its own problems. Mostly the fact that it would be an absolute unmitigated disaster for her adopted planet. If everyone here was saying she should be forbidden from carrying out her mission but the Asgard helped her do it anyway, there would be a permanent breach in Earth's relations with their most powerful allies. Not only because the Asgard had gone against their wishes, but because the Asgard would have been forced to intervene in a squabble which the people of Earth should have been able to resolve themselves. If Earth wanted to be treated like a mature race with the full rights and responsibilities granted such peoples, they needed to act like_adults_. If the Asgard felt they had to step in to separate them like squabbling children, it would be almost impossible for the people of Earth to change the perception that they were an unruly lot unable to act with the maturity and wisdom expected of the Fifth Race.

There were tens of billions of humans on planets other than Earth, but _all_ of them had originally evolved on Earth, and human society had developed autonomously _only_ on Earth. Earth, therefore, was the test-bed the Asgard were using to judge _all_ humans, everywhere, and if they couldn't get their act together to confront an apocalyptically destructive enemy, they were unlikely to be able to handle far more ambiguous threats in the future. With the entire human race being judged on how they handled this matter, Buffy was _extremely_ reluctant to make her entire race look like spoiled whiny brats to a group of aliens who were in a position to render judgment, especially with the Ancients looking over their shoulder. Plus, she suspected that _she_ would also be judged accordingly, someone expected to unite the world against a common enemy, and failing miserably.

That was the problem with wanting to be treated like an adult. You had to act like one. Although his timing had kind of sucked, Buffy had to agree with Giles when he had more-or-less stated that Dawn was _her_ responsibility, not his. Just as dealing with this situation was _her_ responsibility, and not that of the Asgard.

Finally, there was the President's argument that it wasn't her place to decide how the entire human race would respond to the threat of the First. Almost from the moment she had become a Slayer, Buffy had questioned the demarcations of her authority. She considered herself to be the 'law' within the supernatural realm, but just another private citizen outside of it. The Initiative disaster had provided ample evidence that she should never again subordinate herself to government authority whenever they invaded her realm. Unfortunately the First _wasn't_ exclusively within what she considered to be 'her realm.' Only she wasn't sure how much input the politicians should be given when it came to responding to such a threat. Especially when their desires diverged so radically from her own.

It was not a matter of purely academic consideration either. Issues such as this one –if on much smaller scales—were bound to come up again and again. Unless they had come to some sort of an agreement on their respective lines of demarcation there was bound to be conflict. A conflict, Buffy was well aware, the Slayers would inevitably lose. Because the President was also right about how much tyrants sucked. Power without accountability inevitably led to tyranny. Even more to the point, unchecked authority in the hands of an incompetent was a recipe for disaster. Power placed in the hands of someone able to use it to make quick, decisive, and intelligent decisions made for a nimble, dynamic leadership. In the hands of an idiot who refused to listen to the advice of people who knew what they were talking about, or change direction when they were heading for a cliff, was a pretty significant downside concentrating power in the hands of a single individual.

That was just as true for Slayers as it was for everyone else. Because sooner or later, you always wound up with a moron in charge. Buffy didn't think she was a bad person. But she was aware that if she refused to listen to any opinions but her own, then other people might have reason to think somewhat less of her. If she went around screaming '_Respect ma' authoritah_!!' like Cartman on helium, she needed to back it up with proof that she _deserved_ such respect. _Demanding_ respect, but demonstrating such unequivocal incompetence that it was apparent to everyone she did _not_ deserve it, was an invitation to disaster. That was a major part of the reason she had lost control over the Potentials. She had insisted that they follow her orders, without having first demonstrated that they could trust her competence, and had refused to listen to their reasons for disagreeing with those orders.

It was a lesson she had taken to heart. Demanding the right to act against the expressed wishes of the majority of the population would lead to resentment from those the slayers were trying to protect. On the other hand, putting the Slayer under the control of government officials would be just as disastrous. In any cooperative system, _someone_ had to make the final call. Since there were never enough resources to meet all demands, someone had to decide who got what. Under their system of government the 'final call' was reserved for the President. That system had proven to be the second worst form of government ever invented. The only one worse… was all of the others.

Did she have an obligation to follow the orders of political authorities any time their interests intersected hers? Did she ever have an obligation to follow the orders of an elected official who had proven himself to be so incompetent that his decisions could not be trusted? Or, even worse, those of someone who was clearly competent but willing to cause untold damage simply to further his or her own personal agenda? Back in her old world, this was exactly why the Watchers Council had come about. A treaty had been written, expectations made clear, lines of demarcation established. That treaty had worked well enough that both sides had been more or less satisfied with the arrangement for a millennium.

However, no matter what the Watchers and the governments had felt about it, the arrangement had been manifestly unfair to the _slayer_. Buffy was uncomfortably aware that she had broken that treaty without ever considering what she would need to replace it _with_. Putting something in place which was more equitable to all concerned parties wasn't one of her priorities, but should have been something she'd at least considered. Because right now, in this situation, she wasn't sure where to draw the line. This wasn't like the confrontation with Glory or Angelus. Both of those had been firmly within her realm of influence, as no civilian authority had the skills or ability to deal with them. In the present situation, the public was aware of the problem, knew the possible consequences, and a majority disagreed with her conclusions as to how it should be addressed.

It_didn't matter_ that they didn't have all the information she had, or have her experience, or her personal motivations for dealing with the First. In all her time in Sunnydale, she had never really given much thought to the religious aspect of her work. Given that she used holy water, and crosses, and judged someone's right to live based on their possession of a soul, it _should_ have mattered. But not even the Watchers had pushed it, since religion was so powerful a motivator, but one so subjective, that it was prone to being abused. Not all slayers had been Christians. Just because she didn't believe in their God did not change the fact that _they did_. They were demanding input, and unless she wanted to act like Empress Buffy, she really needed to _listen_ to them. Because even if she was right and they were wrong in this situation, that would not always be the case.

For months, Buffy had felt that the local government had so disgracefully crossed an ethical line by allowing her to be tortured that they no longer had the right to demand _any_ input into decisions which fell into what she considered to be her area of responsibility. But Hayes had done a good job of reminding her that the consequences of her actions would impact _everyone_, and the _people_ deserved a say in matters which affected _them_. Otherwise she would be just another autocratic dictator, refusing to listen to anyone else because she 'knew better' than everyone else. The way Willow had been, until it cost her everything she loved. From the minute Buffy had stepped foot into the SGC Hammond had sought to show her that power wasn't absolute, that the authority to _impose_ decisions didn't automatically confer the wisdom to reach the_correct_ decisions. Without ever losing his own aura of command, Hammond had always sought advice, had tried to reach a consensus. On those few occasions when he acted against that advice, or contrary to the consensus, he had such a compelling reason to do so that people who carried out his orders rarely objected, even if they had previously argued for another option.

Buffy had given the President her reasons for arriving at the decision she had reached. The President had listened to those reasons, but had what he considered to be equally valid reasons to reach a _different_ conclusion. Because of what he had allowed to happen to her, at the time Buffy had decided that his conclusions were irrelevant. Now, she wasn't so sure. She could, she knew, carry out her plan without the participation of the SGC. It would be more difficult, and the outcome less certain. But it was an option. Only she didn't like what it said about her. When had she started believing that _her_ voice was the only one that mattered? Even if she didn't consider Hayes to be 'her' President, it was pretty obvious that he spoke for most of the American people when he demanded that she alter her plans. She had been right to point out that nobody was asking what the Chinese thought about it, but that didn't change the fact that she wasn't Chinese herself. She honestly believed in democracy and the rule of law. If she insisted that they did not apply within her area of responsibility, what right did she have to sneer at those who felt it did not apply within _theirs_, and practiced torture? After all, they also believed they were acting for 'the greater good.'

When, she wondered, had she stopped being The Good Guy?

Things used to be so simple. See a vampire; stake a vampire. But things were getting so big, with such apocalyptic consequences, that Buffy was learning the difference between 'simple' and 'simplistic.' The answers weren't so easy, and the choices not so clear-cut. She was no longer certain her authority was quite so absolute, even within the supernatural realm. Mostly, she was starting to wonder about the implications for future Slayers if she demanded such absolute authority. They would want the same thing, and all too soon one of them would be neither competent nor worthy of possessing such power. Not just due to the well-known truism concerning power leading to corruption, but the insidious aspects of arrogance leading to resentment, inevitably leading to active opposition. It wasn't always '_all about power_.' Sometimes, it was a matter of the _limits_ to power. The previous administration had screwed up because power without accountability had led to corruption and incompetence. She didn't want something similar to be her legacy to the Slayers who followed her, and to the world they were supposed to protect.

Nor did she want that legacy to be a barren universe, all life exterminated by the First, because people who did not know better were thinking with their hearts instead of their heads.

Even days later, she still did not know what to do. And time was running out.

---

A few days after the President's visit Buffy was considering ways to 'redeem' herself in the public eye. An ad in the local paper showing that Fall Out Boy was scheduled to play in Denver had her considering slaying Pete Wentz. She was fairly certain he fell within her mandate –never had there been a clearer example of someone selling their soul to the devil—but in the end she reluctantly decided against it. The full media spin machine was in operation. It was bad enough finding herself being slimed by the pundits. Forcing them to turn Pete Wentz into something Great And Noble would have left her so nauseous she'd never be able to stop puking. The dry heaves sucked. But it would have been interesting to see if even the most powerful of media spin-meisters could turn a colossal douche-bag like Pete Wentz into something other than a colossal douche-bag.

It would have been nice to discuss her problem with someone like Dr. Jackson, but like the rest of SG-1 he was offworld on some kind of mission. For them, as well as the rest of the SGC, her confrontation with the First was just another problem they would deal with when the time came. In the meantime they concentrated their efforts on their own issues. No one doubted the danger represented by the First, but while those who decided such matters figured out what they were going to do about it, the Goa'uld, the Tollan, the Ashen and the usual array of enemies still had to be dealt with. Occasionally it startled Buffy to realize that her problem was not a particularly critical matter to her SGC allies. Of necessity, their concerns had a very short time horizon. They would deal with it once things came to a head, but until then they had enough on their plate which had to be handled right away. Sometimes she felt kind of indignant that they weren't as obsessed with the matter as she was, but she was also sort of comforted with the knowledge that Life Went On. No matter how apocalyptic the issue seemed to _her_, to _them_ it was just another of a huge pile of things which had to be addressed asap.

It was unusual, to say the least, for General Hammond to knock on the door of her cubicle in the Guest Quarters. She worked for him, and Buffy privately hoped she wasn't unintentionally sending out signals that she considered herself so high and mighty that she would not respond to a summons had the General called her to his office. As usual, he noticed immediately, and put her at ease, at least to his reasons for coming to see her, rather than requesting her presence. "Please, sit down. I only need a few minutes of your time. In addition to the reports we received from your contacts on the other side of the Quantum Mirror regarding the attack on the Retreat, there was a personal letter addressed to you from your sister. I apologize for holding it back from you, but at the time we needed to concentrate on the specific issues which the President brought up during his visit. It was decided that the contents of this letter would leave you unable to focus on matters which _had_ to be addressed. I am truly sorry."

Feeling her throat dry with the warning that what he was delivering was not going to be something she wanted to know, Buffy silently reached for the letter. Noticeably reluctant, the General handed it over without further comment. It didn't take long to read, since the most important information was in the first paragraph. The remainder was apologies and _mea culpa_'s and pleas for forgiveness. Without saying a word, Buffy carefully refolded the letter and put it back into its envelope. After handing it over to the General she picked up the small knapsack she kept packed with emergency supplies for those few times she had been asked to go through the StarGate. The General said nothing as she left the room, and the facility, without saying a word to anyone.

---

Knowing that Willow's house was under siege by the media, Buffy was unable to act on her first impulse, which was to seek out her friends. Instead, she ran into the rough country outside the Mountain, heading towards Pike's Peak, first removing the batteries from her phone and later hiding from any search parties, running until her side ached and she could no longer even stand. She would never know how much time had passed. How far she ran, or how long she cried when she finally collapsed to the ground and curled into a ball of physical and mental anguish.

At first it seemed the tears would never end. The loss of Giles left her almost incapacitated with grief. What made it exponentially worse was that they would never be able to say goodbye, knowing that she would never be able to tell him that she understood what he'd done, that she forgave him for doing what he felt had been necessary. That he was, in every way except genetically, the man she considered to be her father. The man who would have given her away at her wedding. The man her children would have called 'grandpa.' That she loved him, and bitterly regretted that she'd never been able to tell him so.

For a time she cursed her sister for being so foolish as to go see him. That wasn't fair to Dawn –Buffy hadn't been there, and had long-since learned not to judge the actions of the person on the scene until all the facts were in—but she had warned Dawn of the likely consequences of going to visit Giles. Unfortunately her sister was still new to the Game she was playing, still a bit naïve as to the stakes, and had probably assumed she could control the situation. The First had taught her a harsh lesson, one Buffy knew would devastate her sister. When they had first learned of the attack on the Retreat Buffy had wondered why Dawn had lashed out so uncharacteristically violently, unilaterally escalating a confrontation which had until then been carefully controlled. The answer had been horrifying. But even through her own pain, she realized that Dawn would have been even more crushed. Her sister hadn't had the relationship with Giles that Buffy had enjoyed, but had understood the depth of their relationship. She would have known what it would do to Buffy, how much it would hurt her sister. As lessons went, few were more painful than causing your loved ones to be punished for your own errors in judgment.

It was only a long time later, finally cried out, that Buffy silently thanked her sister for letting Giles know that she had survived, that she had understood what he had done, and had forgiven him for doing what he felt had been necessary. The thought of Giles having died thinking that he had failed her, that she might believe he had betrayed her, was unbearable. She knew –had _always_ known—that he would rather know the girl who was his daughter in spirit was alive and preparing to fight back, than believe she was dead and cursing his betrayal, even if such knowledge cost him his life. That he would rather live one month knowing that she loved him, rather than merely exist for a hundred years thinking she hated him. But the Plan had required that he be kept in the dark. Of course, that Plan had also included her own little unwritten codicil, where, following her triumphant return, she would go to Giles, and hand him the First's rotting heart. He would have been so proud, and so grateful as she magnanimously forgave him, and there would have been music rising to a crescendo, and huggage, and then the credits would roll at the end of the movie…

None of it was meant to be. Maybe it never had been. But her dreams of a blissful reunion with the only real father she had were now ashes, all the pontificating speeches she'd meant to say to him would forever remain unsaid. It was even worse than when Faith had told her Angel hadn't survived his final battle with Wolfram and Hart. They had provided a copy of the broadcast of Angel's final moments. She couldn't bear to watch it herself, but she'd had the SGC analyze the tape, to determine if there was any chance he might have somehow survived. Even without ever seeing the tape, she still had nightmares imagining it. There could be no doubt about his death. They had literally watched him burn. Just as there could be no doubt as to Giles' fate.

The First had sent the body to Dawn.

It had been cold, calculated, vicious, and evil. Something so offensive, it had required an appropriate response. Buffy understood why Dawn had reacted the way she had. Buffy herself would have done something more direct, less impersonal… but it would have been just as foolish, and just as futile.

She looked back over the past few months since she had awakened in this world, and especially since the government had tortured her in the cause of 'the greater good.' Ever since then she had been on an emotional roller coaster, highs and lows coming in quick succession until she was exhausted and far too emotionally fragile. This latest blow was almost more than she could bear. So many friends and family were gone now, with nothing but more pain and heartbreak to look forward to, once the actual fighting started. Buffy remembered the time with Glory, her moment of understanding that the Good Guys did not always win. That everything she had fought so hard to achieve amounted to _nothing_. That failure, and death, was inevitable.

That she would lose.

It had been the single worst moment of her life. Worse than dying, worse than losing Angel, worse than losing… Giles. Worse, because she had _given up_. Before the fight was finished. Before the issue had been settled unambiguously, while there was still faint hope that she might succeed simply because all things were possible, no matter how unlikely, while breath still remained and her heart still beat. If there was anything the SGC had taught her it was to _never give up_, no matter the odds, no matter how futile the attempt. If only to spit one last time into the face of your enemy, if only to make them pay a horrendous price for their victory. _Never give up_! See it through to the bitter end, because 'giving up' was the worst shame anyone at the SGC could imagine. Worse than losing. Worse than the loss of friends or family or members of your team. '_Giving up_' was worse than cowardice or stupidity. It was the very definition of abject _failure_. If she wanted to be in their company, it was something Buffy could not accept from herself, any more than they could from themselves. From somewhere deep inside herself she sought the strength to carry on… and found a reason to. She had to do this… for _Giles_. _He_ had believed in her. She would not fail _him_.

After three days alone in the wilderness, considering her options, Buffy Summers returned to Cheyenne Mountain. Everyone noticed the difference immediately. She didn't whine, or cry… or talk to anyone unless she had to. Not even Willow could bring her out of her shell. She wasn't calm… she was _focused_. Intense. Implacable. The psychologists threw up their hands in disgust, knowing what had happened. Knowing there were no more psychological levers to pull, no more pressures to apply. All would be ignored, dismissed as irrelevant. Hammond cursed, knowing what it meant. He'd seen it before, far too many times, when his people had been pushed too far and were no longer going to take it. Without saying a word to her, the General knew that Buffy was going to tell the President to go to hell. He also knew what it would mean for his country, and his planet. But he had one final card to play…

Outside the mountain, the media pundits exhorted their audiences with dire warnings of impending apocalypse. Buffy did not pay them the slightest attention. She was through listening to those gas-bags. The President was doing what he felt he had to do to protect his people… but she no longer cared about him, or his people. She was going to do what she had to do whether they liked it or not. All the venting going on outside the Mountain would not change that decision.

She was a _Slayer_. Only the mission mattered.

Only avenging Giles mattered.

No matter what it cost.

---

He looked pretty old for his rank. Nor did his portly physique fit the image of a warrior. Only the small gold cross on his lapel indicated that he was a priest, but the look of amusement in his eyes was at odds with the 'fire and brimstone' glare she had seen on the faces of local religious leaders. The SGC PR people wanted her to see a priest –more importantly, they wanted her to be seen meeting with a priest—and had gone to considerable effort to find one she wouldn't find so annoying that she tossed him through a wall. She was 'encouraged' to accompany him in a private walk along the rough pathways in the wild terrain outside the mountain, but within the border fence, so they could not be overheard, but in sight of the observing paparazzi so they could be photographed.

Buffy was in no mood to make things easy for him, and figured she'd let them get their pictures, but once out of sight she'd bail. It came as quite a shock to her that the SGC now _had_ a PR department. The times, they were a'changin.' Unfortunately for her plans, her companion anticipated her reaction, and made quite an effort to neither irritate her by demanding that she justify her behavior to him, the way the others had, but also attempted to capture her interest by explaining some things she might not be aware of. "There is a rather, hmm… _interesting_ discussion going on right now in certain circles concerning the Book of Revelation, particularly as to how it applies to the situation we suddenly find ourselves in. There are those who believe that during the End of Days, Satan will send the Anti-Christ to earth, protected by Fallen angels… who will be disguised as _aliens_ pretending to be the saviors of mankind."

Glancing back at the portly man, Buffy slowed down to let him catch up to her on the rough terrain. The implications of his statement were pretty obvious… and equally ridiculous. But she couldn't prevent herself from responding anyway. "From what I understand, you can interpret Revelations to mean pretty much anything you want."

"This is true. But it doesn't change the fact that _if_ the First Evil is seeking to destroy the very fabric of the universe, then this quite literally _would be_ the End of Times, by definition. All interpretations of Revelation agree that in addition to the Anti-Christ, Christ Himself will also return during the End Times, so _you_ have to be either one or the other. Given the fact that you refuse to go to Church, refuse to accept the orders of your elders, refuse to submit to the will of your father, not to mention that you admit to indulging in fornication with another woman, well, the consensus of opinion is that you're probably _not_ the Second Coming." He smiled impishly.

Stopping abruptly, Buffy glared at the man, not seeing the humor. "I never claimed to be! Why do I have to be 'one or the other?' Why can't I be just one of the people caught up in someone else's war just like everyone else is?"

He merely shrugged, neither intimidated nor angered by her reaction. "Because_you_ are the one who has been chosen to fight this. You _died_, and were reborn. You have powers beyond those of mortal men, including the gift of Sight. From a theological standpoint, you quite simply cannot be considered anything other than one of the primary movers of the conflict. Exactly which one is a matter of debate…"

"So I'm the bad guy because I screwed Faith, but meanwhile the First is tossing around nukes and enslaving nations, and gets a free pass?!"

He smiled, but put a finger to his chin as if considering her remark. "Well, we also received the reports that the First is involved in a sexual relationship with Miss Rosenberg's counterpart on the other Earth. Given that your friend is both a woman and a Jew, not to mention a self-identified_witch_, there is considerable discussion as to which of you might be the more _evil_ Evil, so to speak. But neither of you can be Jesus Himself. The consensus seems to be that when Christ shows up He'll be a 'he,' and be white, with blue eyes, and driving a pickup, with a gun rack in the back window, not to mention proudly displaying his NRA membership."

When he smiled, apparently honestly amused by the whole thing, Buffy managed to restrain her temper enough to notice that he didn't seem to be taking the conclusion too seriously, or appear to be particularly threatened by her possible 'evilness.' She'd tried to avoid watching television lately, because 'debates' like the one he described had been going on for awhile now. They bothered her… a lot. How do you tell people you're not the frickin' _Antichrist_?!? And, to be honest, it really pissed her off that the only real issue freaking them out was her fling with Faith. Especially given the not-so-subtle hints so many of them made that _they_ wouldn't exactly be reluctant to have a fling with Faith themselves! Or with her, for that matter. Or them _both_! It was getting to the point where she was ready to think that the First _deserved_ to win if the people who should be stopping it felt that the destruction of the universe was less important than two mature people having consensual sex. "So why were you volun-told to face my vileness in person?"

"Oh, I assure you, there was quite a competition for the right to do so! For some reason, General Hammond thought you might deal rather violently with those who wished to attempt an exorcism. Or, should I say, otherwise condemn you and work themselves into a histrionic harangue over some of your lifestyle choices."

Since he didn't seem to be in a hurry to do either, Buffy allowed him to walk with her as she continued along the rocky path. "Why aren't _you_ blowing a gasket over it?"

"We're all human, Buffy. I tend to believe that there is no such thing as 'conventional' sex. After witnessing far to much in the way of human inter-relationships and frailties, I can honestly state that, essentially, 'deviant' sex can be construed as that which someone _else_ does, but _I_ do not. I think we'd all be a whole lot happier if we all agreed to stay out of each others bedrooms. So long as it's consensual, and nobody gets hurt, and it doesn't involve children, it's nobody else's business."

After a moment of staring at him, eyes wide in shock, Buffy stated the obvious. "Damn, they must have searched _everywhere_ before they found you!"

The priest merely smiled, not bothering to mention that he had just been flown in from a base on Okinawa. His opinion was _not_ particularly common among the Chaplain's staff, which was probably why he was still a captain after being in the Air Force more than twenty years. Not continuous service –he'd taken time off to get his doctorate, even more time off to perform missionary work in Africa—but he'd always returned to his first obsession: the interrelationships between violence and faith. He'd been following the Slayer story since it exploded onto the scene at the Colorado Springs Airport.

He was genuinely honored by the chance to talk to her. He was only then realizing that he might be needed for more than just a discussion and photo-op, but for the counseling which was involved in his first Calling. She was troubled, and he hastily rearranged the topics he had hoped to discuss in order to accommodate her need. "For over two thousand years, the Bible spoke of a practice so hideous it could only be a sign of Satanic influence. It was a _choice_ some deviant people made which had to be opposed with the utmost ruthlessness for the good of their very souls. There are more than a hundred references to this abnormality in the Bible, one so ingrained into the human psyche that other religions also proscribe this deviant behavior and encourage their followers to do whatever is needed to suppress it."

He shrugged. "That being said, not so long ago we discovered there are physiological reasons for some people being _left-handed_, and the practice of suppressing it by tying their left arm down has pretty much stopped. Without, I need not note, Satan appearing to take over the world." The priest looked over at her, and appeared satisfied that she had understood the meaning behind his story. "I have a question. You need not answer, but I would really like to know. What would you consider to be 'Heaven'?"

After a quick glance at him, she looked away, before finally responding. "Not having to fight any more. Not having so many people depend on me. Just being able to rest… for awhile, at least."

Her voice had been soft, but he heard, and nodded as if she had confirmed something he already knew. "That's not 'Heaven,' Buffy. That is R&R for soldiers on the front lines or a war! But it does answer some of the questions I've been wanting to ask you. I don't think it will come as any surprise for you to realize that your opinions on Heaven –and, I suspect, on religion itself—are considerably different than those encountered amongst the civilian population."

Buffy snorted, mostly in anger. "The _military_ population too! Too damn many of them are practically _zealots_, ready and willing to go to any lengths because 'God is on their side.' God sure does manage to be on a lot of different sides!"

He nodded in understanding as they resumed walking. "Faith is important to people, and many of them are upset that you seem to use talismans of God's power without giving Him due credit. You have seen the Power of God directly, yet refuse to go to church and prostrate yourself before the alter of God in symbolic obeisance to His power." When she glanced at him, confused, he explained. "You use a crucifix to stop a vampire. You have seen Holy Water burn the undead. That's a pretty emphatic demonstration of the Power of God, and by using that power, but not acknowledging the motivating force behind it, some feel you are denying God His due recognition."

She gave a bit of a muffled '_hruumph_' sound, obviously unimpressed. "Willow was a pagan, and a lapsed Jew, who had no belief in Jesus, yet a cross worked just as well on vampires for her as it did for anyone else. She said it had something to do with the shape, and materials, and the sounds of the prayer used to consecrate the crucifix. She had a theory that the early church just co-opted an ancient spell and came up with a prayer which spoke the correct morphemes to gave the necessary sounds legitimacy under the new order. Who knows? But 'faith' didn't have much to do with it working, and _Christian_ faith was irrelevant."

He hadn't heard that before, and the information made him scowl, and privately be grateful she hadn't mentioned it to any of the local clergy. If they were upset with her for having a lesbian affair, they would go completely ballistic over the revelation that pagans could co-opt a Holy Cross. "That's… _interesting_. But it doesn't change the situation you find yourself in regarding your status within the local population. A lot of people around here take their faith seriously, and they are upset that you do not seem to_respect_ that faith. In truth, the fact that you won't go to Church is just a discussion point for the main issue. Even if you _did_ attend Church, it wouldn't change the underlying problem."

Pausing in her walk, the girl met his eyes with an angry glare. "Which is?"

His smile was as gentle as he could make it. "It's not that hard, Buffy: _You don't believe in God_."

For a second she froze, before her eyes once again hardened in anger. "Do you have any idea what my life is like?! Can you even _imagine_ what it's like to fight to the death practically every single night of your entire life, to lose your friends and your family and never get a damned break…" When her voice cracked she paused, struggling to regain control over her emotions. The priest carefully held his hand out, there if she wanted something to hold on to. She did not, and he once again cursed the necessity for harassment laws which prevented him from offering simple comfort. Unfortunately there had been too many betrayals of trust during such moments, '_priests_' who felt their calling gave them leave to take advantage of someone else's pain, and human laws had been forced to take precedence. The priest could do nothing but give her the time and space she needed to calm herself. "I'd rather there be _no_ God than one who would do this to me, or make me kill Angel, or sacrifice my sister…" Her voice faded into a bitter whisper.

"Buffy, I understand that you've gotten a raw deal, but sometimes things are not as capricious as they might appear at first glance. Personally, I prefer to believe that 'bad things' happen to you not because you're a bad person, but because you're _strong enough to handle them_. I truly believe that you've been chosen by God to deal with this. I understand there is no evidence that this is so, that these 'Powers That Be' of yours are not actually 'God.' But I cannot believe that in a struggle such as this, with such tremendous consequences, God would stand aside. Unfortunately, if you read the Bible, you'll notice that the people God chooses to do His work usually get hurt and abused far worse than those who didn't receive such a dubious honor. What they have in common is the strength to carry on, despite sometimes horrific adversity."

Scowling, Buffy recalled the crap that had fallen on some of those poor bastards whom God chose to do His dirty work. If she'd been Job she would have been packing a sawed-off shotgun and twin Uzi's when she reached the Pearly Gates, prepared to lay a severe smack-down on the assholes within. "Then God can kiss my svelte ass. Ain't no way I'm going to go through a bunch of tests just to prove something someone supposedly omnipotent should already know."

The priest smiled, delighted to see the spark of anger. "You've already gone through more tests than most of us could survive, and you're still fighting. Don't be too hard on God. He generally knows what He's doing, even if we don't understand."

That statement earned a contemptuous snort from the small, deceptively fragile-appearing woman. "I fight for my _own_ reasons! Mostly just out of habit now, I suppose. Whether I can 'handle' it or not is irrelevant. What God did to me _sucks_! What He did to the First Slayer sucked even more, and what he allowed to happen to all of the slayers who were Called between us sucked major-league suckage! But mostly I will never accept what he did to my sister. She was just a _kid_! She never did anything to anybody! Setting it up so that she had to be sacrificed to save the world… that's just _bullshit_!"

Facing her steadily, the priest kept his voice even, despite her obvious outrage. "And yet, I can't help but notice that you _didn't_ sacrifice her. The concept of 'God's wrath' has been argued for a long time, Buffy. We don't discuss it as much as we used to, because to modern sensibilities God comes off looking like an abusive parent. 'He only _hurts_ us because he _loves_ us!' doesn't resonate so well these days. Recall God commanding Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac. Abraham probably would have done it, but trusted God enough to be fairly certain He wouldn't make him go through with it. Obviously you don't have that much faith… in truth, _I_ don't have that much faith! Which is just as well, because few people are so corrupted as those who believe they can do_anything_, no matter how egregious, simply because they believe it is what _God_ wants them to do. Perhaps this was meant to_test_ you, to determine if you would choose the easy path, or would seek to find another way. Even though it would have been the easy solution, you took a stand, and chose another path. Remember the whole 'God works in mysterious ways' thing. The obvious answer isn't necessarily the correct one."

After considering his point for a few seconds, Buffy glanced up at the priest. "You do realize that the last thing the SGC would want is for you to convince me that I've been Chosen By God, and that I can 'choose another path' than the one they want, because I have been Divinely Chosen? They're already worried about my ego."

He chuckled softly. "Oh, yes indeed. But if the reports I have read are accurate, you are already well aware of the difference between being a leader who_inspires_ her followers, and a demagogue who demands unquestioning obedience." Noticing her expression, he winced in sympathy. "A hard lesson to learn, Buffy. For all of us. I believe you were Chosen by God to fight this battle; but that doesn't mean God will fight it for you. Or even that you'll _win_. That's where the whole 'free will' thing comes in. The problem with 'freedom' is that it is hard, and uncertain, and you never really get what you want because everyone else has the right to make their own choices as well. Worse, it means God doesn't personally intervene to _ensure_ that you succeed. Despite that, I believe it to be far preferable to the alternative.

"Consider, if you will, the story of Adam and Eve, and the parable of eating the apple. At first glance God comes off looking like, well, a real dick, to be honest. If Adam and Eve are truly innocent they cannot know right from wrong, so being punished for eating the apple seems, well, idiotic. But –and here's the kicker--if you are really that_innocent_, you cannot be _free_. Someone has to take care of you. A rancher takes care of the cows in his pasture, but I wouldn't want to be a cow. Eating the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge wasn't a sin _at the time they did it_, because when they were tempted to eat it they were too innocent to know right from wrong. However, afterwards, they _understood_ there was such a thing as 'sin,' and _realized_ they had committed one. They suddenly understood the difference between right and wrong, between good and evil… and had the free will to _choose_ one or the other. The Church may have put its own spin on the story because the Church is real big on obedience –to say nothing of Paul's issues with women-- but overall, the story is as much about free will as it is about sin."

Noting that he was reaching her, that it appeared as if she was considering his words, the priest continued. "Another story where God comes off looking like a whiny brat throwing a tantrum is the Flood. God is angry that everyone on Earth is wicked –because they won't give Him His share of the credit for their achievements, which seems kind of petty for a God--except for one family, so He drowns everyone else? Even the children? Can you say '_overkill_?' But look deeper into the story, and recall your own legends from the Watcher diaries. One story has it that there were fallen angels, called Nephilim, who mated with humans long ago. These creatures were _tainted_, unholy. Now suppose that over time their progeny expanded, until perhaps there was only one family with an untainted bloodline. In your own legends it was the Old Ones who mated with humans, creating the first vampires. Perhaps the descendents of the Nephilim were just as corrupt. To prevent the human bloodline from being extinguished nothing short of a vast culling would suffice. This wasn't something God could explain to primitive people who had no conception of DNA. Under this scenario, the Flood wasn't about drowning 'wicked' people; it was about _preserving_ humanity.

"One other thing you might want to note. There was another name for the Nephilim… they were also known as the _Watchers_."

As he had intended, she was started by that information. He had wanted to get across the idea that God _wasn't_ her enemy, that despite some of the terrible things God had to do, there was comfort in believing that He actually had a plan which would truly _help_ people in the end. Knowing how much she had been hurt, he wanted her to know that it wasn't personal, that something good would come out of all the pain. Because he strongly suspected that the pain was far from over.

Acknowledging that she understood the point he was trying to make, Buffy resumed walking along the path. They were inside a fenced-in area, and had walked well beyond the reach of the media or its cameras. The 'mp3' player she always wore ensured that and sensors NORAD had emplaced all over the area would be unable to overhear their conversation. It was getting late, and the sun was just nearing the horizon, hidden behind the distant mountains. She knew he was setting her up for something. When things were so beautiful, it was only to provide a backdrop to Buffy getting screwed by destiny once again. "Okay, so if God does actually exist, sometimes He's not _actually_ being an asshole, it only looks like it, and He does have our best interest at heart. Gotcha. Big deal. If He's not prepared to get off his Almighty ass and help me, then to Hell with Him. So why did you want to talk about it?"

The priest sighed, knowing he was about to cause a good woman pain. But she had to know. "There has been considerable discussion recently on your claim to have 'died and gone to heaven.' It caused such consternation within the Church that a meeting was held at the Vatican. A consensus has been reached, and within a few days they will release a judgment that, if things happened the way you described, it is likely that you did _not_, in fact, go to Heaven when you died. It will be quite the media circus, I expect. Especially here."

He had anticipated that she would react angrily, but was still shocked at how fast she moved. For the first time he felt actually threatened, as she turned towards him with inhuman speed, and glared at him with a frighteningly feral expression. "Oh? You think a bit of pussy-licking makes me 'unfit' to go to heaven? Well, just so you know, I'd never been with another girl before. I went to heaven _before _this thing with Faith happened! And I can assure you, I know the difference between heaven and hell. I _know_ people who went the other direction. Eternal torment? Having your heart cut out while you're still conscious? Not a whole lot of that was going on where I was. Take my word for it: it was fucking _perfect_! In other words,_heaven_."

Despite the threat in her expression, and her intimidating presence in his personal space, the priest struggled to remain calm. It was far more difficult to do so than he had anticipated. Short or not, he'd seen pictures of what she was capable of doing at the Airport. "I'd like to explain my reasoning, by bringing up an interesting point concerning Heaven and Hell, Buffy. From all we have learned from scripture, there are _many_ aspects of Hell, but only _one_ of Heaven. Various sins are treated with varying degrees of punishment among those many aspects of Hell. But as for _Heaven, _well, there is only one criteria for being in Heaven. And that is: _you are embraced by the Grace of God_! For all you've said about the experience, you have _never once_ claimed to have experienced such grace. If you had _truly_ been in Heaven, it would be the first thing you'd have talked about."

She had been looking for a reason to attack him, but his calm words and deliberately non-threatening demeanor gave her no excuse to do so. In a way he felt guilty about that, because soon her remarkably expressive eyes changed from hard, and strong, to emotionally devastated. The one thing which had kept her going had been the belief that she had at least earned a Heavenly reward after all the horrors she had been through. To think even that might be denied her almost broke her. Even knowing he was only causing her more pain, the priest continued, because it was important. "The thing about Heaven is that there is no need for lies. You are in_God's Grace_, so understand His Divine intent. In the place you described, you believed that your family and friends were alright, that your purpose had been fulfilled, that the situation back in Sunnydale was under control. _None_ of those things were true! They made you _feel_ better, but they were still_lies_!

"Mostly, however, I cannot believe that any soul could be removed from Heaven through the use of _black magic_. No matter how you interpret your friends' actions, utilizing a blood sacrifice can only be regarded as 'evil.' You might not have been in the depths of Hell, Buffy, but you were not in _Heaven_ either. The Church even provides an explanation. There is no longer a separate category for 'Purgatory,' since by definition anything that isn't Heaven is an aspect of Hell… but parts of Hell can be fairly nice. Over time, however, it will become increasingly unpleasant, simply because it is _not_ Heaven." He paused, stung by the look of betrayal in her expressive green eyes, unnerved by the pain his words had caused, and rushed to explain his point before he caused her any more pain. "That might not be as terrible as it sounds, Buffy. What your friend did to you was an _obscenity_! I can think of no sin greater than to deprive someone of their blessed reward. But if you _weren't_ actually in Heaven, then Willow's sin isn't quite so unforgivable. I don't doubt that her actions caused you tremendous pain. But I would suspect that someone like you, a hero in the truest sense, would accept such a pain if it meant saving your friends' _soul_."

The priest was grateful that she seemed to hear his words, and the horror in her expression quickly gave way to a more focused consideration. Knowing he had her full attention, he quickly resumed. "My understanding is that Willow was your most powerful ally on that other world. Her magical skills were great, and growing. She had power issues, and tried to justify her actions with the delusion that she was doing things for the benefit of _others_, not her own. Now consider how devastating it would be for her to realize that her greatest spell –_raising her best friend from the dead_, rescuing her from Hell itself—was an _obscenity_, the absolute worst thing she could have ever done to someone she called a friend. Think of her guilt, and the ways a creature like the First could manipulate her _using_ that guilt. This wasn't an accident, Buffy. What happened was deliberately engineered, I believe, by the First for it's own purposes."

Buffy nodded her understanding of the point he was trying to make, but the shadow of pain remained despite the importance of the matter. "That makes sense… but it's kinda disappointing, you know… I sorta thought I'd earned it… and wonder what I've done that make me not deserve to go to… you know… heaven."

He nodded, understanding. "And yet you claim not to believe in God! I would suspect that you are simply very _angry_ with God. Recall again the saying about '…_works in mysterious ways_.' This situation is a good example. What you went through was harsh, and unfair: but if it had been any other way I truly believe that your friend would have been condemned to eternal torment. In many ways I find considerable comfort in this. The Church believes that the only way to heaven is through Christ…and if you personally don't believe in God, you can't believe in the divinity of Jesus, so you would be ineligible for entrance to Heaven. Yet I know many good people who are in a similar situation to your own. For instance, if someone is not a Christian do they merit eternal torment, despite a lifetime spent doing good, simply because they are wrong regarding their faith? Particularly when such choices are often determined by childhood indoctrination, rather than through genuine faith. I'd like to believe that such people could go to a place such as you described, somewhere peaceful and decent, which would permit them to eventually reconsider and earn their way into Heaven itself."

When he paused, Buffy nodded to show she understood what he was saying. When he saw that she was back in control of her emotions, he turned away from that topic, knowing it would force her to do quite a bit of thinking afterwards. "I am aware that the pundits have been, well, metaphorically crucifying you in the media. I don't doubt that it has caused you considerable pain and disillusionment. But you have to understand that people are frightened, and when people are frightened they tend to lash out. It must seem pretty unfair that they are attacking _you_. But who _else_ are they going to blame, Buffy?! Everyone else involved in this is, in one form or another, far beyond their reach. The average person on the street has no input, or control, over events which might mean life or death to themselves and their families. They're frightened and they are lashing out and you just happen to be the only available target."

After pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts, the priest continued, finally reaching the real reason he had wanted to speak to her. "I'm sure you have noticed the… uhm… distinctly fundamentalist tenor of the religious groups who have set up shop in Colorado Springs. Some of them are more extreme than others, with distinct leanings toward anticipating an imminent apocalyptic Rapture. Your confrontation with the First, with its overtones of universal Armageddon, has naturally gained their undivided attention. With a name like the 'First Evil' it's rather difficult to turn your opponent into the Good Guy, and you can't be trusted since, well, since you had sex with a chick. Because they view both of the main players in this battle to be on the 'wrong' side, they have been placing extreme pressure on politicians and those in the military who support their views to prevent you from using the Key in a way which might offend God."

Noting her irritated expression, he tried to explain. "As I said, these are difficult times, and during such times people seek security in _certainty_. Only through faith can they find such certainty. The answers science provides are often too complicated for anyone who isn't a specialist to understand. Naturally anyone seeking certainty isn't interested in moral ambiguity or philosophical complexity. This is why the fundamentalist movement is gaining such popularity; it offers _absolute certainty_ during very uncertain times. I am one of those people who have issues with certain fundamentalist precepts. To me, the very idea of salvation exclusively through _faith alone_, and not through actual _deeds_, seems a bit too self-indulgent. They don't actually have to go out and help someone: simply _praying_ for them is sufficient under such interpretations of scripture. Some of the biggest churches in the country preach that Jesus died in poverty so we could have prosperity. In other words, Jesus wanted us to be _rich_! But they feel it isn't required that they share their wealth; only that they _pray_ for those less fortunate."

He bent to pick up a few pebbles, tossing them casually as he collected his thoughts. "The big issues for fundamentalist are the sins of _society as a whole_, those matters so repugnant that God Himself might destroy such a society for permitting them. Most sins only require God to send his human representatives to stamp out the transgression. But a few require more _direct_ action. A plague, or other measure of Divine Displeasure. They are, in order of importance: impenitence, child sacrifice, and sodomy. Or, in the modern context; evolution, abortion, and homosexuality. These abominations must be opposed _at all costs_, because they are the only sins so offensive to the eyes of God that He will _personally_ set His wrath upon us should we not prevent them from occurring. Now, I'm a bit uncomfortable with the fact that those who condemn these particular abominations don't seem to have much of a problem with institutionalized torture, because they say it isn't _specifically_ forbidden in the Bible. Since _slavery_ isn't forbidden either –in fact, slaves are specifically told by God Himself to _accept_ their lot in the Bible—I have personal reasons for worrying about some of the more extreme fundamentalist notions. If they are okay with torture, I can't help but wonder what else their strict interpretations of Biblical scripture might permit them to accept."

Buffy nodded without turning to face him. The priest was a black man, and for the very reason he mentioned the fundamentalist movement was almost exclusively white. He continued. "They also tend to believe in faith healing. Two thousand years of medical advancement to help sick people get better, and these people believe that if you just have _enough faith_, God will heal you. Now personally, whenever anyone tells me they can be healed through the Power of Christ, I suggest they first take the Tree Test. Run head first towards a large tree, praying with utmost devotion for God to remove the tree from your path. If you pass harmlessly through where the tree had been, your faith is enough to cure the disease. If you bonk your head into the tree, it means God has better things to do than move a bloody tree out of the way of an idiot too stupid to move around it.

"I sometim

es wonder what our world would be like if we had the sort of Divine proof your people have. Without that sort of verifiable evidence, some people feel they must prove their devotion through ever more extreme acts of Passion. This is especially true in the Moslem faith, but can be true for Christian fundamentalists as well. This sort of extreme behavior can be particularly troubling. When your religious zeal is so extreme, secular laws don't apply to you, because you subscribe to a 'higher law,' one of Divine perfection, one which cannot be questioned. Yet men are _not_ gods, and don't always know what God is actually thinking. Which was the point of my stories concerning the Apple and the Flood. I had hoped such people would heed the lesson of our misunderstanding of the nature of left-handedness. Some stories in the Bible may be misinterpreted even now. I for one find it very difficult to believe that anyone can know, with absolute certainty, God's true intent."

For a few seconds he paused, once again considering his words carefully, weighing his faith, his oath to his country, and his belief in the small girl before him. Buffy did not interrupt, suspecting she was being judged, and not understanding why until he finally spoke. "Fundamentalist Christians are almost always good people, doing what they think is not only _right_, but motivated by a sincere desire to _help_ other people. But your friend Willow had similar objectives, and similar flaws. For people like her, no matter their motives, it's the _execution_ which frequently leaves something to be desired. For all their reverence for the Bible, Fundamentalist Christians have the annoying propensity of teaching it as if it were a suppository. Because they are _absolutely certain_ they are doing the right thing, they tend to ride roughshod over those who disagree with them. When you are so certain you are doing the right thing, nothing can change your mind, nothing can be permitted to get in your way. Not the law, not the consequences, not the opinions of others who do not share your certainty. Unfortunately, your confrontation with the First presents us with just such a case of 'certainty' overruling mundane issues with the law."

He took a deep breath before concluding. "Whether you know it or not, a team is being assembled as we speak to assist you in your efforts to defeat the First. An entire media campaign is being planned to justify it, and to extol not only its necessity, but the controls the government has put in place to ensure that you do not do anything which could be considered sacrilegious. To that end, certain members of the team have been approved by religious authorities with the mandate of ensuring that you do not do so.

"Some of these people are adherents to fundamentalist doctrines who believe that it would be contrary to God's Plan to _prevent_ the Rapture. Now for myself, I don't believe God would be too happy with anyone who would either actively or passively permit the death of 95 of their fellow humans just to prove that their beliefs were the right ones." He shrugged. "Others believe that bringing about such monumental calamity will force God to intervene directly to _prevent_ the destruction of His Creation, and while He's here He'll clean up all of our other problems while He's in the neighborhood."

When the priest paused to look at her his expression was almost pained. "It is my belief that at least one of the people assigned to your team will actually be seeking any opportunity to _actively sabotage_ the outcome you wish to attain. I don't know who, I don't know how, I don't know when. All I know is that certain extremist sects have begun planning for the imminent arrival of the Rapture, and the Second Coming, and those sects are not above giving it a push to ensure that it _does_ happen."

Buffy had no idea how to respond to his warning. It came as quite a surprise that they were bringing together a team, although it shouldn't have. The President had made it clear he'd try to stop her if she acted against his wishes, and since she hadn't called in the Asgard yet they probably still felt there was a possibility she would agree to his terms. If they believed that, they were deluding themselves. She wasn't certain why she hadn't already called them and said she was proceeding with Plan B. Part of it was because she still had plenty of time. Moving too early would only give the First that much more time to prepare, that much more time for Buffy or her allies to make a mistake. But equally important, she didn't want to act out of anger, to make a decision which could not be reversed until she was certain she was doing the right thing.

She still thought stopping the First should take precedence over relatively minor political considerations; but her own reasons for carrying out the mission had changed. Under other circumstances she might question her right to make decisions which affected everyone, without regard for their input. Or maybe she wouldn't have. Either way, Giles' death changed everything. She had her own objectives, and how others might react to those objectives were completely irrelevant to her. Whatever outcome anyone else wanted, whatever reasons they had or authority they commanded, did not matter. _Giles was dead_. Murdered! Someone was going to pay for that. And if that made her the Bad Guy in this fight, well, she honestly did not give a damn anymore. Religion wasn't the only thing that motivated people into committing acts of fanaticism.

Perhaps that was why her response was somewhat glib. "They're going to be pretty upset when Xenu shows up and tells them they don't make the cut because of their body thetan count." He simply stared at her, without expression, until she began to feel guilty. He was a _priest_, after all, and he _was_ actually trying to help. Still, she wasn't sure what he wanted her to do about the matter, except to be careful. "So I should trust _Willow_, but _not _trust the team they're sending through the Mirror. That will make things just a tad more difficult than I'd hoped."

The sarcasm was wasted. Priests have that whole 'guilt' thing going for them, just like moms did. Buffy could call a Master Vampire or the President of the United States an idiot to their face and not flinch. But not a priest. He knew it too, and let her stew in it for a minute before letting her off the hook. "Don't expect perfection, Miss Summers. In all of human history there has been only one perfect being... and we nailed Him to a cross. People do all kinds of things for all kinds of reasons. Faith is one of the most powerful motivating factors know to humanity… in some ways, _the_ most powerful motivating factor. I know you have a war to fight, but there is a religious aspect to that war, not just in the minds of our people, but in _fact_. Even the Asgard recognize this.

"I know you're unhappy with God, and I know you have a right to be. On the other hand, I suspect that you have pleased _Him_ with your actions and successes. So much so that this time, He has apparently placed perhaps His most powerful talisman into your hands for safe-keeping. Don't let your anger and lack of faith in Him blind you to the trust and faith He apparently has in _you_! Protect the Key. Don't treat it like a weapon, an _object_ to be used as you see fit. Don't let your hatred of the First overwhelm the sacred trust which has been placed in your care."

It was a metaphorical slap in the face. Buffy froze, for long seconds unable to even speak. She wanted to curse him. To scream, to point out the needs of the mission versus the relatively trivial reasons for preventing her from executing that mission. But she didn't. Because he was _right_. The Key _wasn't_ a tool, and it shamed her to realize that she was treating it as one. Treating her like one. It took the wind out of her sails to realize that in her rage, in her implacable need to avenge her defeat, to avenge Giles, she might treat _Dawn_ as just another tool to be _used_, and not a person with her own thoughts and feelings and dreams. _Her sister _deserved better than that. But once she realized that truth, she also was forced to admit the problem was bigger than that._People in general_ deserved better than that. If she wanted to call herself the 'hero,' she had to be more than just about revenge. She had to _act the part_. She had to actually _become_ The Good Guy. And that meant treating other people as more than minor inconveniences interfering with her plans, or tools to be used as she saw fit. It meant _listening_ to them. It meant _respecting_ them.

Still facing the priest, she finally spoke, very quietly. "My sister is the Key."

There was another long pause as both considered the implications of each others words. "Then_love_ her. Do what you must, but never let her doubt your love. If you think you have had a tough life, think about _hers_. Never being truly _real_. Always an object to be used by others who care nothing for her emotions or aspirations. _Love_ her, Miss Summers! Make absolutely certain she knows that with a clarity beyond denial. She will _need_ that certainty, during what is to come."

Buffy nodded her understanding. As they returned to the heavily-defended entrance to the Mountain, the priest was already forgetting what they had discussed. It was a shame, because it was almost certainly the most important sermon he would ever give.

---

She spoke to Hammond first. He informed the President immediately, and a video conference call was set up soon afterwards. They had obviously got him out of bed, as the President was wearing a bathrobe and his hair was uncombed. It was probably that which left him unable to conceal his triumph. "George tells me you've agreed to my terms."

Nodding once, Buffy met his eyes with her own focused glare. Knowing that she would not be able to speak without unleashing an angry tirade, she kept it simple.

For long minutes, the President considered her. Studied her, the way he would any other political opponent. There were so many questions, so many things he wanted to ask. Most obviously, 'Are you _lying_ to me?' But that question could_not_ be asked. In many ways it didn't even matter if she was lying. Partly because he could spin it if she was, make her 'betrayal' the story, but partly because he didn't think she was lying. He _knew_ he'd gotten through to her when they'd met. _Knew_ she'd understood the stakes. But that was before she'd found out about her friend. He and Hammond and a bunch of experts had discussed it before passing along the letter. They'd known what it might mean, but had also known they had no choice. She'd find out eventually anyway. And if she found out only once the team had been deployed to her world, where she had access to her own allies, it would _not_ go well. It had made for some long, sleepless nights waiting for her response. Wondering if she'd contacted the Asgard, and was already gone. Knowing there was nothing he could do about it either way.

The very fact that she was still here told him all he really needed to know. "I am sorry about your friend. I know this man Giles was your mentor. I know how much he meant to you. I've had to say this far more times than I ever wanted to, and it never gets any easier. I am truly sorry for your loss."

There was no way she could hide the depth of her pain from her expressive green eyes, but she simply nodded. Technically, he'd just won the biggest battle of his Presidency. It tasted like ashes. "I'll sign the authorization papers immediately. They'll be on Hammond's desk within the hour."

After a single nod of acknowledgement Buffy got up from her chair and left the room. There was nothing more to be said.

---

With the order finally given, events moved quickly. Troops and equipment were brought in. Weapons were distributed. Medical exams completed. Soldiers assigned to the SGC were used to such measures, although they understood that the potential consequences of this mission dwarfed any they had ever undertaken previously. Nothing was said for security reasons, but hugs of goodbye were extra tight, kisses extra long. Experienced spouses understood without any further words being spoken. Something especially dangerous was underway.

Not so experienced in either security or saying goodbye, Buffy had a hard time coming up with something to say to her mother when she called before shipping out. She couldn't tell her the truth. So they simply caught up on events, reestablished contact, reinforced the bond. It took her awhile to figure out that, without either saying a word about it, her mom knew what was happening. What the call meant.

Under the circumstances it was a pretty emotional call. Nothing explicitly said, everything implied. By the end of it Buffy was almost in tears, and knew there was no 'almost' when it came to her mother. She had tried to conceal the fact that she was crying, but it hadn't been hard to hear.

Afterwards, she was out of sorts, hyped up, nervous. Embarrassed and filled with regret, the General passed along the letter Giles had sent to her, which they had held back from her. Even without reading it they'd known what it meant the minute it arrived, known that she would realize the implications immediately, and known what she would do if she saw it. The decision to keep it from her had been made at the highest levels, but the reasons were obvious. She'd have insisted on warning him, and that simply was not possible. The First would learn of it, and all of their plans would be for naught. Once again Buffy found it difficult to control her anger, and loathed the control they had over her life. Whatever happened, things would change should she survive.

Still, it was wonderful to read the note. To picture Giles in all his British majesty, writing to her, trying to communicate feelings without actually coming out and saying them directly. For a few minutes, he was still alive, still her mentor, still by her side. By the end of the letter she could not hold back her tears. She remained in her room for most of the next two days, and when she emerged, everyone noted a change in attitude. She was calmer, less stressed, far more sociable than she had been before. Naturally they attributed the change to the letter, and all were happy to see it. Buffy didn't bother to tell anyone that she'd had a dream the night she'd read Giles' letter. A Slayer dream.

She dreamed of the First, finding the location of this galaxy, finding the SGC, finding _her_.

Awakening from the dream, trembling in fear, Buffy had spent the rest of the night thinking about it. Considering it from all angles. Remembering a lesson Carter had taught her months earlier, when they were treating the First as if it was an AI in order to come up with a plan to fight it. Recalling that you didn't beat an AI by knowing something it didn't know, but by knowing that something it thought it _did_ know was_wrong_.

Unlike Buffy, the President, or someone on his team, hadn't been wearing an Ori Mind Shield device. The First knew the President's plan.

The First did _not_ know that Buffy knew it knew. Or that she'd given a lot of thought as to how to put that knowledge to use.

Or that, after months of dithering and whining, she finally knew _exactly_ what she was going to do. And it wasn't what the President, or the First, expected.

Afterwards, she was even more restless than she had been before the dream. Even more anxious to keep herself occupied until it was time to go. Since Willow was part of the project Buffy could talk to her, but she felt guilty about having to lie to her best friend about what was happening. Fortunately Willow was busy, her expertise demanded by a dozen separate departments, so their time to chat was necessarily short. There weren't very many other people Buffy could talk to. Or _wanted_ to talk to. The last time she'd been back to her home-world, she noted that losing her friends was killing her. She was discovering that _not having_ any friends on this world was leaving her will little reason to live.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small piece of paper Willow had handed her a week earlier. She hadn't done anything with it, but she hadn't thrown it away either. Without pausing to think too much about what she was doing, she quickly dialed the number written on that paper, before she could change her mind.

"Hi, Faith. It's Buffy…"


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19 

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

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**Return To Normal**

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**Chapter Nineteen**

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The town was dying. Only a few dozen people remained, and most of them were retired. When the train tracks were abandoned by consolidating railroad companies, the farmers had to truck their crops to a larger town twelve miles to the north. Once the farmers stopped coming, there was no need for a store, or a gas station, or a diner. The kids moved on to someplace where they could find a job, and the town had been pretty much abandoned except by those who had nowhere else to go. But the buildings still stood, if in various states of disrepair, and most of them still had power. The old woman who owned the theater was shocked when a small group of youngsters knocked on her door and asked to rent the decrepit building for an evening. She warned them it wasn't in the best of shape, but the young man with the girls stated that he could fix it up enough to suit their needs in a few hours. They only needed it for one night, for a meeting, and would pay for any damages they caused.

The young man had an honest face, even though one of his eyes seemed a bit… weird. It just didn't seem to work right, which bothered the old woman a little, but $250 just to use a building she didn't care if they burned to the ground was pretty hard to resist. It didn't take her long to think that it might have been better had she said no, when girls started to arrive a few hours later. _Lots_ of girls. Mostly in cars, but also a few busses, a bunch of motorcycles. Young girls, with hard eyes, who moved with unnatural, predatory grace. Even an old woman in a dying town recognized that they were slayers. They'd been in the news a lot, the past few months. These were the survivors of a particularly brutal underground war. Rumor had it that the Ronin had disbanded, but if that had once been true, it wasn't any longer. When she tried to call her daughter, there was no dial-tone. The TV still worked, but the internet did not. Looking out the window, she could see the young man with the honest face and the wonky eye leaving the fenced-in area where the phone company had their switching box. A small girl twisted a lug wrench around the posts with casual strength to keep anyone from entering behind him to fix whatever he had just deliberately broken.

A _lot_ of girls were moving into the theater. _Hundreds_ of them, and they all moved with the smooth, predatory stride of slayers. The old woman would have given a lot to know what this was about, but wasn't so foolish as to try snooping. She'd never heard of slayers carrying guns before, but most of these girls were packing serious hardware. What really caught her eye however was that a lot of them looked _scared_. The old woman wondered what could frighten so many slayers, and figured she'd be much happier not knowing.

---

At eight o'clock on the nose Buffy nervously skipped up the five-foot high ledge to the stage in front of the ratty curtains covering a screen which hadn't witnessed a film in decades, and made her way over to the microphone. The theater was full, although stage lights directed at her from the projection booth made it difficult for her to see many of the people in the crowd. She didn't really have to, though. They would all be young, physically fit, and prettier than average simply due to that fitness. Fortunately Dawn had positioned herself at the front, so Buffy could see at least one friendly face. She was one of the few. Intellectually, the other slayers knew she wasn't the person running Slayers Inc, but she _looked_ like that person, and she hadn't prevented that person from first dominating them, and then hunting them down. Even worse, they all knew what her presence meant. Showtime with the First was at hand. Their subconscious condemnation was a challenge Buffy sought to address immediately. "I'm Buffy Summers, and you're all here because I screwed up."

There had been the drone of background murmurs until she spoke, but it died almost immediately at her opening statement. If they were expecting a long, pontificating diatribe, they were in for a surprise. Buffy had learned her lesson, and had paid careful attention when discussing this moment with General Hammond. "I was supposed to be the _Last_ Slayer. The Shadowmen who created the _First_ Slayer offered me _all_ of the power of the demon they had caged to empower the slayer. Not just the aspect of the demon that is normally channeled into a slayer, but everything it had. It would have made me more powerful, more dangerous. Maybe even powerful enough to take on the Turok-han, defeat them, and prevent the First from gaining corporeality. I turned them down. The price seemed to be too high. I would have become even more feral than the First Slayer, essentially _possessed_ by the demon, no longer remotely human. More importantly, when I died the slayer line would _die with me_. Maybe it was the First whispering in my ear like the snake in the Garden of Eden, but I thought I had a better plan, a plan to _share_ the slayer essence, to retain my humanity, and still win. You all know how it turned out. You might not realize _why_ it didn't work.

"It's very simple: The slayer essence _wasn't my gift to share_!"

There were confused looks on some of the faces Buffy could see, and she took a deep breath before resuming, grateful for an encouraging nod from Dawn. "I should have taken their offer. We should _never_ have performed that spell. The Activation Spell, which shared the slayer essence to everyone with the Potential to receive it. Or at least we should have thought through the implications. There were only what, 35 Potentials in Sunnydale when it all came to a head? Yet there are nearly _1800_ slayers now, so far as we can tell. The Potentials who were in Sunnydale made their own choices, but we _didn't_ have the right to choose for the rest of you. A lot of you didn't want the power, or the responsibility, or you may have had your own dreams which had to be cast aside when the power was thrust upon you during the Activation Spell.

"Yes, technically, you _could_ have refused. But how many actually _did_? We asked a loaded question: '_Do you want to be strong_?' Well, duh; who _wouldn't_?! We didn't ask if you wanted to be 'strong enough to fight monsters for the rest of your life until they finally kill you in a horrible hideous bloody death.' We didn't tell you the _price_ you'd have to pay to be strong. What we did to you wasn't a whole lot different than what the Shadownmen did to the First Slayer. Even if it hadn't been the wrong call for so many other reasons, I don't like looking in the mirror and knowing that what I did to nearly two thousand innocent girls falls little short of _rape_. It was a _bad call_, and I wish I had never made it."

She sighed, noting the dead silence from the audience. Given that over three hundred or so teenaged girls generally were never completely silent, Buffy wasn't sure if it was a good sign or not. "When I was brought back to life, after the thing with Glory, I felt certain there was something 'wrong' with me, was certain that something about me had changed. Tara read my aura, and told me this wasn't true, but unfortunately she didn't understand what had been done to me. Something _had_ changed. The slayer line should have gone through _Faith_, but when I came back, the line went through _me_ again. Tara didn't realize it, and I didn't know it, and even if we had neither of us would have understood the implications. But the _First_ certainly did! It knew that if it could take over my body, then once it gained corporeality it would become effectively immortal. It could transfer to any Potential who would be Called should its host body be killed.

"This was the critical flaw in the spell which created the slayer. You all know how the Shadowmen created the First Slayer. They used the aspect of a captured demon to provide the power. What you might _not_ realize is that there is only _one_ demon. All of us --you and me and everyone in this room and all of the other slayers around the world-- all use aspects of the _same_ demon. We all have the _same_ power, subject only to our own unique human characteristics, our own innate strengths and abilities. Some might be stronger, or faster, or have more Slayer Dreams or more affinity with magic… but we're all more-or-less equal. Here's the kicker though: we're not _sharing_ that aspect. Each and every one of us has the full package, because we all get the same mojo from the same demon source.

"How can one demon provide energy to so many slayers? When I was here before, I couldn't help but notice that a lot of the new slayers don't twig my internal 'slayer detector.' Some of you do, and strangely enough I noticed that some of the slayers I _couldn't_ detect _could_ detect others, but _not_ the ones I could! I also noticed that it _didn't_ really seem to be determined strictly by age. I'm sure most of you have noticed this too, but you may not have realized the pattern or what it means. I've got some really smart friends in my new world, and after reading the Watcher Journals and discussing it they came up with a rather unpleasant theory. It turns out that slayers are Chosen at random, subject only to being within a certain age bracket. Each of us can 'sense' those slayers Chosen just before or just after us, but _not_ any beyond the twenty or thirty closest to us in the order they were Called. The implications of this kind of suck." 

She paused for a moment, staring out at a silent crowd she could only dimly see. Finally, taking a deep breath, she let them have it. "They have concluded that there is only _one_ demon providing us our power. There will only _ever_ be that one demon. It isn't native to this dimension. It inhabits an alternate universe, where time doesn't work the way it does here. It has been bound with a spell to empower the slayer, and when Willow set off her Activation Spell to provide power for so many slayers in the present, it has been _taking the power from those who should be Called after us_! For every girl Called _now_, a Potential who _should_ be Called in the future will _not_ be! Those of you who have experienced the Dreams will already know this, but let me tell the rest of you what the future holds: once the Activation Spell is terminated, no new slayer will be Called… for _centuries_!"

There were gasps and mumbling noises as those who had experienced Slayer Dreams whispered to their friends who hadn't: Only a few had, since the future was becoming increasingly unstable as the First gained more power. But a few were able to tell of visions of monsters and demons running loose. The decay of civilization. How long would it be until the 1800 or so slayers who should have been Called one at a time were not, and the line could continue? Buffy had Dreamed that a girl named Melaka Fray would be the first slayer to be Called following the long hiatus, but that wouldn't happen until more than _300 years _had passed. She would meet up with a Watcher who was the end result of centuries of Andrew Wells' lectures combining Watcher tradition, Star Wars philosophy, and Lord of the Rings lore being twisted into a bizarrely suicidal doctrine. It was no wonder the poor bastard would be insane. Which meant that even if they won, it would be a _long_ time between slayers. The world would experience untold horrors as the monsters returned long before the slayer line finally resumed to set things to right.

But that was a problem for another day. If the world survived at all, it would be Melaka's problem.

"You've probably been hearing the rumors. I should hope so, since I'm the one who started them so you wouldn't get completely blind-sided by this. We can't fight the First on even terms and win. We've got a bit over 300 slayers. The First has more than a _thousand_. We simply cannot overcome that sort of advantage in numbers. To give us any chance at all of winning, we have to shut down the Activation Spell. This will not only mean that no more slayers will be Called should any of us fall; it will mean no more slayers, period, _effective immediately_! _All_ of us –including all of you and me and Faith _and the First_—will revert back to our normal human state. The slayer aspect will be gone from this universe until enough time has passed in this dimension for the demon to resume the normal pattern the original spell had established."

As she had expected, this time there was quite a commotion within the crowd. Virtually all of them had accepted the Power without pausing to consider any potential downside, but even if they now wished they'd made a different decision, it wasn't easy to give it up now that they'd changed their lives to accommodate it. Battling monsters and things that go bump in the night wasn't fun, but at least it was _different_, and exciting, and it made them all feel _special_. Reverting back to being just another girl was, in some ways, even more terrifying than fighting the First. Buffy had deliberately brought up the fact that no new slayer would be Called after them before mentioning the relative balance of slayer power. They might be crazy enough to challenge three-to-one odds to keep the power that made them special… but enough of them had seen visions of a terrible future where there was no slayer to protect humanity, and they now knew that the longer they put off terminating Willow's spell, the longer that grim future would extend.

This wasn't Buffy's team, so when the discussion and debate showed no sign of slowing she moved to sit on one of the chairs provided on the stage and glanced at her sister. Dawn met her eyes and nodded, her own eyes still shadowed with the guilt of making a decision which had led to Giles' murder. Their reunion a few hours earlier had been an emotional one, not only because of their long separation, but due to the dark cloud cast by the death of Buffy's mentor. There hadn't been nearly enough time to say even a fraction of the things they needed to say to each other, but there had been enough for Buffy to make it clear that she refused to judge Dawn or her decisions, and to say that at least Giles had known she forgave him before he died.

Dawn had always been the protected younger sister. Despite now being older than her sibling, and having led the Ronin for years, she had immediately, almost unthinkingly, deferred to Buffy when it came time to discuss their plans. Buffy would have none of that, and made it emphatically clear that she did not intend to usurp Dawn's place leading the Ronin. It was something else she had discussed with Hammond, because in many ways she _did_ still look at Dawn as her little sister, someone to be protected, not to mention someone she still considered to be too damned young and foolish to tie her shoes without Big Sister's help.

It was a good thing George had talked some sense into her, because very few of the Ronin actually knew Buffy –although they all know _of_ her—and even fewer had any reason to trust her. What she was asking of them might be too much for them to accept coming from a stranger. Especially a stranger who hadn't been around while they fought a guerilla war against the First, who didn't know what they had needed to do just to survive the past year. So she played the heavy, giving them the bad news, and then stood aside to let Dawn follow up with the information they needed to know from a source they knew and trusted. Leaping up to the stage with considerably less grace than a slayer could manage, Dawn moved towards the microphone, took a few minutes to let the hubbub die down before asking for everyone's attention. "I know this is going to be difficult. I know it's not what you want, or the way you want to do it. But we have _no choice_ but to deal with this, because it's _real_, and it can't be wished away. And, hey, let's consider the bright side! It will give _me_ a chance to kick _your_ asses for once!"

She smiled, with an obvious roll of her eyes, and the gallows humor got a few nervous chuckles. Dawn continued. "Remember what's at stake here, girls. This is a war, and we're fighting a _god_. Losing your powers is the _least worst_ outcome. There are other possible results that seriously suck. Some of you have been through these 'apocalypse prophesies' before, so know just how bad things can get if we lose." The brutally frank reminder was enough to get the audience to settle down and listen again. "We have no choice but to fight this war, so any option which increases our chances of winning is the option we _must_ choose. The First intends to _kill_ us. _All_ of us! We can't run away from it, we can't hide from it. I've gone over this backwards and forwards. Most of you have now met with at least a few of our SGC allies. They are actual military experts who have gone over the plan with an actual eye on the strategy. With only one unfortunate counter-example, Buffy is _really good_ at this stuff. Everyone who has looked at her plan thinks it's a good one. It's certainly better than anything _we've_ come up with! And time is running out. Our agents report that the First is very close to activating her portal. If we have any hope at all of _survival_, let alone victory, we must act _now_!

"That being said, things aren't _all_ bad! This isn't a panic response, being made up as we go along, a last desperate 'Hail Mary' hope for victory. This is all being done under _our_ terms. We have chosen where and when and how this attack will take place. A significant fraction of the First's slayers are effectively insane after all the crap they've been pulling the past few months. The First probably intends to use them as berserkers, so making them lose their slayer powers just before we make our move is probably a Good Thing. The First has also made arrangements with some of the demon and vampire clans, which is _bad_… but the SGC will be providing a whole lot of guns and flame-throwers and other unfriendly toys, so even if you're no longer slayers when we face them, we're not exactly going to meekly submit to being somebody's lunch either!

"That's part of the reason they're here, by the way. They want to know how to fight these things. It's something we're going to have to find out as well. Those of you who have had Slayer Dreams of the distant future know that for a long time to come we're going to have to rely on normal humans using normal human weaponry to handle the Bad Guys. So anyone who wants to stay in the Demon Hunting game will need to figure this stuff out anyway."

Pausing, Dawn took a moment to look out at the nervously muttering crowd. All of them were girls, and most of them were so very young. The thought of sending such _children_ to what might be their deaths horrified her to the point of nausea –she was genuinely afraid she might throw up on the stage—but there was no alternative. They _had_ to do this, and these young women were the ones who _had_ to do it. But it was so very unfair… "Our primary objective is the Scythe. Without the Scythe, this simply doesn't happen. Grace, your team has the fun task of getting it and rendezvousing with Andrew's wizards. They'll try to cancel the Activation spell. Buffy is going to _try_ to talk Willow into helping us, but we have no idea how that will work out. If she helps us, fine. If she refuses, then unless the Wizards have managed to break the spell we all run like hell, because none of us want to go up against a psycho witch of Willow's caliber and a thousand berserker slayers. Therefore, we _don't_ proceed with the full assault until we are _certain_ we can take down the spell. Until we know that, we hold back. Only Grace and her people –and Buffy-- will be seriously at risk of capture.

"Once the Scythe is in our possession, though, everything happens fast…" 

---

They'd been going over the details of the plan for hours. Everything explained, maps and charts projected onto the ratty screen to give them a visual reference. Groupings were assigned, targets displayed, questions answered. O'Neill and Buffy had to provide some of the details, but mostly they wanted Dawn to handle as much of it as possible. Back at the Mountain there had been some concern brought up over this decision. Her people would know from the tone of her voice if she didn't buy into the plan, or lacked confidence in it. One of the reasons Buffy had wanted to come through before everyone else was to have the time to discuss it with Dawn, to answer all of her questions, to address her concerns. Those preparations had worked. Because she didn't have slayer powers, or Buffy's reputation, Dawn had been forced to rely on her own smarts and personality to get through to the Ronin. Without saying a word, Buffy and Jack silently acknowledged that she was doing a better job than either of them ever would have been able to do laying out the plan to her people.

"The SGC has also given us their home-built version of the Mutari Generator, so the team tasked with stealing the real one will now be acting in another capacity, attacking the bunker where the First stores her on-site nukes." Having long since gotten past her momentary nervousness, Dawn was almost prowling across the stage, using a laser pointer to highlight projected maps and charts. "Illyria has agreed to let us use it to reverse the effect of its previous application, meaning we're going to be unleashing her _full_ powers. It will only be a matter of _minutes_ before those powers cannot be contained by her suit and she blows up like a supernatural thermonuclear bomb. But right now the only superhuman advantages the First really has –assuming Willow comes over to our side--are its slayer power, and its mind manipulation tricks. Once the Activation Spell is shut down, the First _won't_ be a slayer, it will be trapped in the body it inhabits at the time, and Illyria hates it too much to be swayed by its lies. Illyria snaps its neck, the body dies, the First can't jump to another slayer since there _won't be_ another slayer. It'll be non-corporeal again, and the worst it can do is _taunt_ us, since it needed the full power of the Sunnydale Hellmouth to gain corporeality in the first place and none of the others have even a fraction of the required power.

"All Illyria has to do then is jump into the portal. It opens to another universe. In the space on the other side of that portal she will not be a threat to the Earth when her exoskeleton can no longer contain her full powers and explodes. Illyria isn't sure what will happen to her then, but even if she doesn't simply revert to her natural form, she says it will be worth it to her just for the pleasure of being the one to disrupt the First's master plan.

"Spike will be assisting her and providing super-powered backup to Illyria once the Activation Spell is down and the slayers are neutralized. He's a 'vampire with a soul,' and the 'Shanshu Prophesy insists that a 'vampire with a soul' will help prevent the Apocalypse. We all thought Sunnydale would be the Apocalypse, or the big showdown with the Circle of the Black Thorne in LA, but Angel is dead and Spike is still a vamp. This is _worse_, and if we lose here then the prophesy is redundant. For it to be fulfilled, we're got to win, and he will do something to make that happen. Fingers crossed that we have a prophesy worth the parchment it's printed on. I, unfortunately, have no choice but to go with them. The First is using a really weird portal, combining high tech with an ancient spell to open a door to a space unlike anything we've ever seen before. Most of the directions and instructions for the portal mechanism have been written in a bastardized form of Egyptian hieroglyphics, and among us only Dr. Jackson and I can read it. He's got his own job to do for the SGC. Which means _I_ have to go."

When she overheard the loud muttering from the audience, Dawn frowned at them. "Before you all freak out about me risking my irreplaceable ass on an actual mission without me possessing slayer powers, by the time I am in any danger neither will any of you! This is for all the marbles, people! We _all_ fight, and we all take the same risks. Which means that once you become an ex-slayer you'll have to fight on anyway. Remember the First has those pet demon clans it will unleash after we hit the Compound. The SGC is providing a team of heavily-armed troops to protect me. All of you are to make your own way back to the protection offered by their conventional weapons once you lose your slayer powers. All of this is detailed in the plan, with way-points and defensive positions marked. Before the Spell is dropped each of you will be part of your own team, with your own assignment, just as we've discussed. You'll all need to know where you should be when it drops, and the route you should use to get back to the SGC's defensive lines afterwards.

"Jackie should have updated printouts sorted by name…" While papers were handed out, Dawn held up her hand, showing her wristwatch to the audience, and glared at them. "Timing is going to be _critical_ on this! I don't care how good you think your 'slayer time sense' is: wear a damned watch! I'm looking at _you_, Kelly…."

While the plans were distributed to team leaders and discussions begun on individual assignments and alternate tactics, Xander came up to the front of the theater and glared at Buffy. He managed to keep his voice down, but had no problem conveying his anger. "Are you _insane_?! You can't let Dawn go anywhere _near_ that place…!!"

She met his glare without flinching, and answered carefully, knowing from experience just how far Xander was willing to go to protect those he loved. She was just a bit wistful that _she_ was obviously no longer included in that category. "No choice, Xand. As she said, Daniel is the only other person who can read the instruction manual, and he's been _ordered_ not to go. I'm not exactly thrilled about it either, but the truth is that Dawn _has_ to go with them. The First will only fight this if it has a chance of _winning_. We have no choice but to use Dawn as bait. If we don't risk losing, the First will back off and fight later, when there are no slayers, no SGC, no Illyria, and no plan.

"If we don't shut down the Spell we lose simply due to numbers. If we _do_ shut it down and _don'_t get to the Portal, we'll lose about 90 of our people but will have achieved _nothing_. We _can't_ do this again a year from now! We have to put it all on the line right now. The only way to get the First to step up to the plate and fight us _now_ is by giving it the opportunity to capture Dawn. It, on the other hand, has to risk the Scythe. It knows that without the Scythe we'll run like hell. The only way to bring this to a head –the only reason it is _actually being brought to a head_ in the first place-- is that both sides are willing to risk losing. Dawn knows this. She volunteered. In fact, she _insisted_."

He was in love, and worried about the safety of the woman he loved… and he'd been through this before. "What are you willing to risk 'losing,' Buffy? I notice you're supposed to talk Willow into abandoning the First and deactivating her spell. Instead of protecting the sister you claim to love, you're leaving her to these military clods while you go off on what we both know is either an assassination or a suicide mission. Who decided on this arrangement?"

Meeting his eyes steadily, Buffy didn't back down, and had a flashback to the time she had argued this same subject with Xander after Anya had returned to the vengeance gig. People in love wanted the rules to be different for those they loved. Unfortunately, some rules were not meant to be broken…and some risks had to be accepted because there was no way to _win_ if you wouldn't risk _losing_. "I've got my own orders. Just like you'll have yours. _Dawn_ will make the final call. Illyria will do whatever Dawn tells her to do. You should know Dawn well enough by now to know that they'll both do what they are going to do regardless of anything _I_ say. Don't blame this on _me_. This _isn't_ my call. It's not _yours_ either. So quit blaming me for the fact that she's making the same decision _you_ would make if you were standing in her shoes."

Xander was remembering the situation with Anya as well, and didn't like what he was seeing in his old friends' face. Over time she had become harder, less compassionate; but until that moment he'd never even imagined that the Buffy he knew would treat the sister she claimed to love as just another pawn. Or treat her _best friend_ as just another monster who now fell within her mandate as the Slayer. He had always thought it was her compassion which had made Buffy a superior Slayer, her willingness to look beyond the rules and restrictions which governed the actions of other slayers. The issue with Anya had been bad enough, but the sheer number of bodies and the bloody execution of her vengeance had been pretty hard to deny, even for him. But this was _different_! Dawn had never hurt _anyone_, and Willow was being _manipulated_. Not to mention the fact that she seemed to have forgotten that Willow was no longer the defenseless wall-flower she had once been, and was more than capable of holding her own even against a slayer. At that particular moment, Xander felt that he would be more than happy to see her do just that. "This isn't Willow's fault, Buffy. They've been messing with her head for years. She is not responsible for her actions…"

Meeting his eyes without flinching, Buffy shook her head. "That might be true –hell, it is true!-- but it doesn't change anything. The bottom line is that she's helping the First. How many people should we let her kill because she's really screwed up? We turned our backs on Faith for doing far less than Willow did to Warren, but we protected Willow because she was our _friend_. For God's sake, Xander, she _skinned a guy alive_! Yeah, he deserved it, and yeah, I'm not sorry he's dead… but the double standard still bothers me. How much leeway do we give our friends just because they _are_ our friends? Spike killed a lot fewer people than Anya ever did, but you never forgave Spike. Where do we draw the line, Xand? I really want to know."

Xander wanted to rebut that they hadn't turned on Faith because she killed someone accidentally, but because she'd tried to kill _him_ and frame Buffy for the other murders she'd committed, but she didn't pause to let him comment. "We had this conversation when Anya chose to return to the vengeance gig. You never did give me an answer. What's happening with Willow isn't really comparable to Anya, or even Faith. It's more like the situation with _Drucilla_. She was _crazy_! She had been _deliberately driven insane_! There was no way she could be considered responsible for anything she did. But she was just too damned dangerous to remain free, and there was nowhere we could put her where she could be safely confined. Willow is the same way! And at least with Willow I _know_ –because she _told_ me herself!—that she would rather be stopped than be allowed to harm innocent people. No, it's not fair. But a lot of these girls are going to _die_ tomorrow, and that isn't very goddamn fair either! Letting _more_ of them die just because Willow is your friend –she's _my_ friend too, dammit!—is completely _un_fair! We've been through this before and I'm tired of being treated like I'm the bad guy. Do you really think I _want_ this?! That I _like_ this?! Same deal as last time, Xand: _give me an alternative_!"

She was almost pleading, but Xander was too worried about Dawn to notice. Unlike most of the slayers, he realized that the detailed plans they had been going over very conspicuously left the First _not_-dead, only non-corporeal, and free to resume its war against the Key once it managed to find another way back to corporeality. Which it would, sooner or later. Far more familiar with Buffy than the newbie slayers, he was very aware that this was _not_ her normal method of resolving a problem. Buffy tended to prefer permanent solutions, and given that the First was trying to _kill her sister_, and had ordered her surrogate _father_ killed, he figured the chances of Buffy letting the First get away with offenses like that were pretty close to zero. He had the sneaking suspicion that she wasn't telling people what she truly planned on doing… mostly because they wouldn't like the answer. It would take far more than slayer mojo to bring down the First. If Buffy figured neither she nor Illyria could get the job done, that secret plan would involve someone even more powerful. Given that the two most powerful individuals he knew of were the two people he cared most about, Xander was pretty worried about the implications concerning Dawn's and Willow's safety.

Knowing he was being unfair didn't change the fact that Buffy was at least partly responsible for the situation. Xander was frustrated that she was using the people he loved to fight _her_ battle. If she hadn't come back, there was no way in hell Dawn would have brought the confrontation to a head. From what he'd overheard from the SGC guys, the same was true for them. Dozens of Ronin had been hunted down and killed since they had gone to ground, and each time it happened Dawn had pulled them farther back, dug them in deeper, fighting a purely defensive war. She'd let them fight the monsters, the vampires attacking humans, but ever since losing Giles, Dawn had been more tentative than was probably wise. It simply wasn't in her nature to be this aggressive. This was all Buffy. Even after all this time on her own, Dawn still deferred to her sister, and would do whatever Buffy told her to do. Even if that meant doing something which stood a good chance of getting her killed.

From what he had seen, this wasn't the Buffy he remembered. She was tougher, more focused, more driven… the sort of slayer who would put the mission ahead of the lives of even those people she loved. Which might make her a good _slayer_, but a lousy _friend_. "You couldn't beat her the last time you faced 'Dark Willow.' What makes you think things will be different this time?"

Meeting his eyes without flinching, Buffy wondered if she was about to lose a friend. Even worse, knew that she was willing to do so, if that was what it took. Despite knowing what might happen, she didn't even consider backing down. "I learn from my mistakes. I had Dr. Jackson go through the history books to determine how legends say mages have been defeated in the past. There _have_ been others like Willow. They all go down eventually. It's difficult; but it _can_ be done. They all have similar needs and similar weaknesses. Especially since I don't think Willow will fight too hard. She's too smart to delude herself forever. She must know what she's done, and what she's become."

Xander shook his head, his expression conveying something close to disgust. "So you already researched it, already planned for how you are going to kill her. This really is an _assassination_! Way to treat your friends…"

Buffy was having none of it, and ignored the eavesdroppers they were starting to attract. "Who pissed in your porridge, Xan?! _Of course_ I planned for it! That's what I _do_! You _know_ what the stakes are here! Willow is just too damned powerful to simply knock on her door and offer to discuss this over tea and hope she decides to get her shit together and help us. We _might_ be able to do this without her, but we simply _cannot_ do this if she decides to _oppose_ us! Jeezus, you sure don't think much of me, do you? Is it because I wouldn't let your girlfriend get away with slaughtering an entire house filled with boys who were killed for the hideous crime of being _assholes_!? Would you be on the other side of the fence if one of _them_ had been your friend? Damned right you would."

They were tearing into each other, old animosities unleashed, resentments exposed. Xander had loved Buffy –in truth, still did, even though that love was now more fraternal in nature—but he had long been frustrated that she made decisions for personal reasons when it came to those _she_ loved, but refused to let anyone else do the same when it came to people _they_ loved. During the situation with Glory, the shoe had been on the other foot. It had been _her_ threatening anyone who dared harm Dawn, when everyone else felt the risk of protecting her was too high. Now she was doing the exact opposite, but still refusing to accept anyone else's opinion. He also had to silently admit some bitterness over the fact that they had been fighting the First for years, but the minute she returned, Dawn had immediately rolled over and accepted not just her plan, but her _authority_. He was uncomfortably aware that part of his anger was due to jealousy over the way everyone was falling into their old habit of deferring to 'The Slayer', when he had spent years effectively being the co-chair of the Ronin. Even _they_ were doing whatever Buffy asked, no matter what he might say.

Fortunately for their friendship, Xander was no longer seventeen years old, recognized that his anger wasn't completely justified, and knew when to cool things down. Whereas he had lashed out in frustration before when the others had refused to listen to him, this time he was mature enough to pull back on his anger before acting out of spite. Taking a calming breath, he considered her words, finally noting that she was practically _pleading_ for an alternative, and quickly spotting the obvious one. But in addition to maturity, he'd also gained experience, and had an uncomfortable suspicion as to why she hadn't suggested that alternative herself. When he finally spoke, his voice was calmer, his words carefully chosen. "All the timing points in the plan are yours. Some of the Ronin have Slayer Dreams and have corroborated parts of what you've seen, but none of them have Dreams so detailed, so accurate. It's like you have the visions Cordelia used to have, that Angel and his people used to 'help the helpless.' So I need to ask you, as our resident 'seer,' if you have had any visions of your upcoming confrontation with Willow."

She might be tougher than she used to be, but Buffy still hadn't learned how to hide her emotions, and the way her face fell told Xander all he needed to know. While she struggled to find the words, Xander sighed and raised one hand, cupping her beautiful face, his thumb gently wiping the tear falling from her left eye. He finally understood, and his anger deflated like a popped balloon. "Well, I suppose that answers my question. Things don't go so well, I take it."

Wincing at her memory of the nightmare, Buffy could not bring herself to even speak of the vision. Bitter recriminations, terrible accusations, and finally a confrontation which left one of them a mangled wreck… and the other _dead. _Like all of her visions, the outcome changed as real-world conditions changed, meaning the 'dead' one changed from night to night. At least, until Daniel had come up with a few ideas on how to handle even a mage as powerful as Willow. Implementing his recommendations required a lot of preparatory work, so Xander was correct in claiming that she would be going in with the full intention of killing Willow. Unfortunately, she was running real short on options, and if Willow wouldn't fight _with_ them, she was far too dangerous to be allowed to fight against them. Tactically, it made sense. Strategically, there was no other choice. Ethically, it _sucked_. "When was the last time you saw her, Xan? She's not the person we remember. She's… _scary_! It might not be her fault, but that doesn't change the fact that she is our enemy now. She is _not_ the person our Willow would have ever wanted to become. Tell me what to do, Xan. I _don't_ want to do this! I just don't know what else I _can_ do!"

This time Xander simply nodded, more in control of his emotions, thinking instead of lashing out in anger. He'd screwed up twice with Buffy back in his Scoobie days, once when he was furious that she'd refused to kill Angelus, the second time when she insisted on killing Anya. Both times he'd let his emotions get the better of him, and likely left her with the impression that his opinions should be discounted because he could not be relied upon to support her with rational arguments any time it involved a friend. This one involved nothing _but_ friends, and it was killing him to see it all come down to this. What he'd refused to see up until then was that it was doing the same thing to _her_. He'd probably subconsciously known for a while what he'd have to do. There was no way he could let Buffy face Willow when they were _both_ crazy, each in their own wonderfully unique way. "Do we _really_ have any chance of beating the First without Willow's help?"

"No." He had forgotten how short she really was until he was forced to look down into her pleading green eyes. "Nobody among Andrew's group has even a fraction of the power she has. And to be honest, I don't really trust them. But without Willow, they're all we've got."

Xander sighed, already knowing her response. He didn't really trust the warlock's either. Which meant he had no choice. "I talked her down once."

The implied offer had Buffy's head snapping up instantly, her eyes meeting his, her desperation obvious. "I don't think a 'yellow crayon' will be enough this time, Xan. She's in a real dark place, and she's been there a long, long time. Every time she tried to come back up the First manipulated her with power, or sex, or guilt, or whatever else it took. She might not even remember you, or those memories might have been twisted into something obscene. I don't know how she'll react. But I don't think she react _well_, even for you."

Nodding slightly in acknowledgement, Xander admitted that she was probably right. It had been a long time since he'd seen Will, and for most of that time he had been actively opposing her. But she was still his best friend, the person who had saved his childhood from the hell of abusive, alcoholic parents, the person to whom he owed more than anyone else. Meeting Buffy's pleading eyes, he gently brushed her hair back behind one ear before speaking. "Caleb called me 'the One Who See's,' and I still see Willow as my _friend_. No matter what she has become, no matter what she's done, she's _still_ my friend. I love you Buffy, and I don't want to hurt you, but when I look at you right now, I see a _slayer_. One who will do whatever she has to do, no matter what it costs. I understand why, and I realize that right now a 'slayer' is what we need if we're going to win. But I don't think you're going to like who you're becoming any more than Willow does."

From her reaction, he might have slapped her. The all-too-visible emotions on her face broke his heart. The pain, and hurt, and the recognition that he spoke the truth. Wrapping her small body into his arms, Xander glanced up at the podium, where Dawn was going over the detailed plans with her troops. She wasn't looking in their direction, the stage lights probably preventing her from even seeing them. It was just as well. He didn't want her to know that he'd just volunteered for what would likely turn out to be a suicide mission.

It was better than seeing his oldest friend assassinated by someone who just might be able to do it.

Only, now that he had put the burden on his own shoulders, he suddenly understood where Buffy was coming from. As she said, Willow was in a real bad place. If she simply killed him out of hand, then the entire plan fell apart. Everyone he knew would die. And it would all be _his_ fault.

He noticed a subtle change in their hug. Now, it seemed as if Buffy was reassuring him as much as he had been encouraging her earlier. In a way it made him just a bit nervous, suspecting that if he couldn't talk Willow down, Buffy had arranged for another way to take care of the problem. As he had already noticed, she was a really _good_ slayer, and she intended to win.


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter 20 

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

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**Return To Normal**

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**Chapter Twenty**

--

Noticing the way the Colonel was watching Buffy, Faith slinked up to him, meeting his questioning glance with an angry glare. "Yo, Grandpa! Isn't she a bit young for you?"

She was trying to pick a fight, and O'Neill had a pretty good idea as to why. "Are you jealous of your alternate self, Faith? Wishing it was _you_ she went to when she needed some TLC?"

From the painful wince she couldn't hold back, O'Neill knew he'd struck a bulls-eye. But he wasn't interested in scoring points. "As for me, well, aside from the fact that she's too young, and too immature, and too bratty… and too opinionated… and too aggravating…feel free to add your own 'etcetera' here… there is the minor matter of no sparkage. I _like_ the kid, I really do… and I'm not so deep in my dotage that I don't recognize she is a real hottie. But it wouldn't take her long to drive me up the friggin' wall with all those other issues."

Meeting his eyes, far calmer now that she understood he wasn't a rival, Faith subtly pointed her chin towards Carter. "Unlike, say, Major Genius there?"

O'Neill audibly sighed, without looking away from the young woman in front of him. "I think that ship has pretty much sailed."

Her sensuous mouth twisted in a kind of self-deprecating sneer, Faith looked over at Buffy, not even trying to hide the pain in her eyes. "Some ships never really sail, Admiral. They weigh anchor and leave shore, but never really reach the open sea. They sit there, taunting you, just out of reach but always visible out of the corner of your eye, reminding you of failed dreams. You can _pretend_ they've headed off into the sunset --you might even convince yourself sometimes-- but one day reality punches you in the face so hard it's like the bitch-slap from Hell.

"I know her and me are not meant to be –the fact that we both enjoy the occasional joust with about six inches of pink steel was my first hint—but it doesn't change the fact that she's the only person I've ever really… _cared about_... in my whole life. It doesn't matter that we're completely wrong for each other. She isn't even my _type_! First of all, I normally prefer men –I'm not 'gay,' I'm _hetero-flexible_!—and try to pick guys who 'know the score' at that. Naïve little virginal princesses normally just piss me off. The last thing I want is some angst-filled hormonal idiot falling in '_love_' with me." She tried to sneer the word, but it came out more of a sigh, as she was still looking over at Buffy.

"Naturally, I would have to fall for _her_. Kinda ironic, actually, in an Alanis Morissette-y kind of angst-filled, 'this really _sux_' way. We don't have a helluva lot in common except for the fact that we're both slayers. There are _lots_ of slayers now, yet I don't want to jump _their_ bones. B is just _different_. Don't ask me how, and I can't explain _why_; but she's not like other girls. She tries to be. She _pretends_ to be. But if you have ever seen her in action you'll know what I mean. She's got that 'something extra' that makes her… I dunno, _special_. Just a bit better than the rest of us at taking out the Big Bads. Hidden behind that brainless cheerleader front is a fucking gunslinger with the drive of a Spanish conquistador. Truth is, whatever it is, it's something I'm not even sure if I _want_ to have. I'm not sure if I ever could be –or ever _want_ to be-- as cold or calculating as she can be."

When he raised an eyebrow at that observation, Faith sighed in frustration. "Because she's so emotional, and wears her heart on her sleeve, most people don't think she's capable of analyzing a problem, you know, _logically_. I figure it's one of her 'dumb blonde' affectations, because it's pure-D refried bullshit. Now me, I'm _really_ controlled by emotional impulses! B; not so much. She really _is_ as emotional as she pretends to be, but that doesn't prevent her from being able to stop and think things through before acting. She's learned discipline, and how to _use_ her emotions instead of being used _by_ them. More importantly, she'll usually listen to good advice before acting on impulse. Me, and most of the others here, just point us in the right direction and tell us who to kill. B likes to know what will happen next before she actually pulls the trigger."

Cocking his head a bit, O'Neill tried to see where she was going with this. He'd seen Buffy's fight against the Rock Beast after the fact, and had been amazed at her determination and mental toughness. He hadn't expected someone like Faith would have noticed it as well. "That doesn't make sense. Are you saying she's too _cold_ to be a good slayer… or too _sensitive_?"

Faith almost choked on his misunderstanding. "It's the combination that makes her a _great_ slayer, Old Man! _The_ Slayer! Yo, dude, most of us get so caught up in the hunt we wouldn't want to stop to think things through even if we had the brains to do it! Don't try to tell me you haven't noticed how many of the slayers here pretty much suck at anything more complicated than beating our opponents into submission. I'll bet you've seen the same thing in the Marines… kids real good at blowing shit up or whatever, but useless as tits on a bull when they need to adapt to changing circumstances."

His expression abruptly went blank as O'Neill suddenly realized that Faith was far more perceptive than he had initially believed. Smirking at his re-evaluation, she amused herself by twisting the knife a little. "What, you thought I wouldn't notice? C'mon, dude; it sticks out like Ron Jeremy with his fly undone." She nodded over towards where Buffy was holding court, surrounded by awed mini-slayers, blithely unaware that only a few hours earlier they had resented her as an interloper. After failing to win over the Potentials by trying to be something she wasn't, she had effortlessly gained center stage by _not_ trying to act like she thought a 'leader' should act, and instead just by being herself. "You'd never realize it just looking at her, but she can be colder and more ruthless than anyone in this room. I shit you not! I _still_ can't believe she skewered Anya! That was _harsh_! But it wasn't done out of rage or spite or my own personal excuse, a sense of '_what the fuck, let's see what this bitch can do_.' I actually would have liked to have tried that one myself! And I kinda _liked_ Anya! Even with one arm I can take anyone in this room… except B. We threw down once in the most bitchin', intense, knock-down-drag-out fight I've ever been in. I was at the absolute top of my game, I was pissed off and not holding back a damned thing… and she _still_ kicked my ass! That fight we mentioned the last time we met? Yeah, the one with the knife. She got me _real_ good. Put me in a coma, in fact."

Smirking at the way the older man's eyes widened in surprise at the pride in her tone, Faith looked over at Buffy. "You're kinda the same way. A whole lot spookier than you try to appear. But it's pretty obvious you're more than just the brain-dead military moron you appear to be. Even on first viewing I know you'd walk into Hell itself for your friends. Neither one of you have that core of darkness, the rage that drives someone like me… or someone like Willow, for that matter. But what you and B have is a lot scarier. Instead of a 'core of _darkness_,' you've got a 'core of _steel_!' Both of you will coldly and logically do whatever the fuck you feel you have to do in order to _win. _Which unfortunately means that if the only way to win is to sacrifice those friends you'd go to Hell to save, then that is exactly what you will do. Which is kind of pertinent to our present situation, given how pissed-off Xander looked earlier. Only one thing about Buffy ever pissed-off the Xan-Man, and I'll give you three guesses as to what that might be… and the first two don't count. So even if that clue-bat wasn't enough to make me see the light, I keep thinking of the way she fought the Torak-han champion, getting the shit kicked out of her time after time, until she figured out how to fight it so she could put on a show that stopped the Potentials from panicking.

"Not too fuckin' smart… but it _worked_.

"So now I'm looking at all these here plans for attacking the First's lair, and how detailed and precise they are… and how there ain't no way in hell B came up with this shit. But that's alright, because it sure as hell is gonna keep everyone occupied… while B does whatever the fuck it is that _really_ needs to be done to beat this bitch." Noting his non-expression, Faith gave O'Neill another smirk. "Don't worry, none of _them_ will realize it. Not even Dawn, and she's probably as smart as your sweetie. They just don't have the experience to realize what's really going down. But _I_ do. And so do _you_. I'm thinking you know more about it than anyone but B. So you might not know exactly _how_ she intends to beat this thing, but you _do_ know how much of a song and dance the rest of this bullshit really is.

"Which brings me to the point I wanted to make. Which is, you assholes have been knocking B around even worse than that Torak-han jerkoff did, and so far as I can see she's pretty much let you get away with it. But just like the Torak-han, she ain't gonna let you _keep_ getting away with it. She's got something in mind, I guarantee you. And I suspect you know it. And this Hammond dude doesn't sound like a complete retard either, so he probably figured it out too. And being military types, you probably came up with some contingency plan just in case she does something completely crazy. So then I'm thinking, maybe you're actually under orders to _stop_ her if things don't go according to plan. Which would be a real fucking problem, because knowing B there ain't no way in hell this will ever go down the way you're expecting. Now I seriously doubt if you have the slightest clue how she _really_ intends to bring down the First, but there ain't no fucking way she's gonna let it walk away after it pulled all this crap the way this bullshit plan calls for. So I just want it out there; I know whose back _I_ will be covering. I'm not real big on thinking things through, or considering the long-term implications of my actions. It's real simple: anyone tries to fuck with B, I kill 'em deader'n hell. No debate, no discussion, no hesitation."

O'Neill met her glare with one of his own. Slayer or not, he didn't like to be threatened. And no one-armed slayer was going to intimidate him. "I'm on _her_ side, Faith. I'm here to help…"

Snorting in contempt, Faith didn't back down either, knowing the soldier only saw the missing arm, and had no clue what she could do with the other one. "You're in the Army. You'll do whatever the fuck you're told, whether you like it or not. _You_ might be on her side, but those giving you your orders sure as hell aren't. Be a real bad idea to interfere in whatever plan B is working on for the Powers That Be, Corporal. Even if you're dumb enough not to be scared of _me_, you should be fucking terrified of _them_! If you think you're big enough to butt your nose into their business, then you'd better be big enough to save yourself when they vaporize your planet and exterminate every single member of your entire species for getting in their goddamned way! I shit you not. Illyria has been telling us about the other times the First and the Key almost came to blows. To keep it from happening they made big chunks of the galaxy became uninhabitable… and uninhabit_ed_. These people play for keeps. You deal yourself in, you'd best be prepared for the consequences."

Muttering a frustrated "It's the _Air Force_, moron…" almost under his breath, O'Neill was mostly concentrating on her second-hand threat. Sif had given equally broad hints that these 'PtB' creatures weren't screwing around, and interfering with their little contest might be a Very Bad Idea. There was considerable doubt that Buffy intended to live up to her 'compromise' with the President. A lot of powerful people, both military and civilian, were of the opinion that since this particular matter had been building for billions of years, there was no reason to bring it to a head right now. At worst, delaying it would only make it someone else's problem. To accomplish that –and to negate anything Buffy might do despite her promises-- all they had to do was release the Key back into its natural state and force the First to seek a new confrontation at some nebulous future time. If the Key was pretending to be a person, if would be easy enough to _shoot_ that person, and problem solved. If they couldn't figure out which person, shoot them _all_, with the same result. Killing a few people to save _billions_ seemed a pretty fair trade.

The result wouldn't be quite so 'fair' if those beings manipulating the confrontation were so angered by it they annihilated everyone who interfered with their plans. Returning his attention to the glowering slayer, O'Neill tried to pump her for additional information. "What makes you think she's 'playing us?' I _did_ have some small degree of input into her planning, and there isn't a lot of wiggle room in there for her to 'play' us, if you mean changing something so radically it upsets the entire equation."

The slayer snorted. He tried not to find it attractive, but there was such an overwhelming aura of sensuality to Faith than even her expressions of contempt were sexy. "_Of course_ she's gonna 'change the equation,' you pinhead! She _always_ changes the fucking equation! That bitch murdered _Giles_ and you think she's just gonna let it _walk_?! If you think that will happen, then you don't know Buffy _at all_. I knew what was happening the minute you showed up with Captain Cardboard." Gesturing over towards the corner, she glared over to where Captain Finn and his team were talking quietly, observing the room, creeped out to meet their alternate selves. O'Neill noted the jealous contempt in her expression. "I can tell you _exactly_ what happened. You freaked out when B told you that her and my counterpart on your world did the nasty, so to placate your homophobic bosses she tossed you the Farm Boy. She didn't tell you that he was just Rebound Guy while she tried to get over Angel… or that he hadn't been up to the job… although I don't think there is a woman alive who wouldn't have realized that the moment they met him. But they probably assumed his mere possession of a penis would be sufficient to save her from my dyke-ish clutches."

Despite his best efforts to conceal his embarrassment at the accuracy of her assessment, Faith could see the truth in his face, and snorted in contempt. "You're in for a real rude awakening when _Spike_ shows up! Yeah, he's a _vampire_; but his abs are chiseled from freakin' _granite_! Even your scientist honey is gonna wet her panties when she sees him. Plus, he's got the whole 'bad boy' thing down to an art. I'm sure B encouraged your delusion that Farm Boy would be able to manipulate her with sex, but it ain't gonna happen. I took him for a test ride while I was inhabiting Buffy's body –long story—and I can unconditionally guaran-_fucking_-tee you that he sure as hell ain't gonna make her forget _Spike_! He-Man soldier-boy or not; he's still a wimp, and Buffy likes her boys just a little bit 'bad.' Spike pretty much defines 'bad.' They hung him for it."

O'Neill glared back at her, trying to intimidate her by going for what he saw as her weak point; her intelligence. "I think you mean they '_hanged_' him for it."

She smirked lasciviously. "Nope. Nothing makes a Bad Boy 'badder' than being hung like a mule. And Spike is a bad, _bad_ boy… if you catch my drift."

O'Neill winced. _Waaaay_ too much information. But her main point was probably accurate: Buffy had tossed Finn their way as a distraction. And it had _worked_! He had been caught by surprise when she capitulated to the Presidents' demands, and had quietly pondered the fact that her modified plan was so close to the one he and Hammond had worked out between them. He didn't see how she could 'radically change' that plan at this late date… but he hadn't suspected that Finn had just been a diversion either. Needing more information, he returned his attention to Faith, and desperately tried to keep his eyes from straying to her impressive –and prominently displayed--cleavage. "Buffy also said that you slept with pretty much all of her ex's. I'll take it as a given that includes this 'Spike' creature. If he's with you she will consider him to be off the market and she'll look elsewhere. It doesn't look like Riley has much competition around here."

Sighing a bit wistfully, Faith looked over at Buffy. "Spike is hardly 'off the market.' We get it on every so often, but we're hardly 'lovers.' More like 'friends with benefits,' and more 'friends' than 'benefits' these days. Kinda hard to be anything else, when we both love someone else." That they both loved the _same _'someone else' was left unsaid. "Spike likes a girl strong enough to slap him around a bit. He would _sooooo_ do Illyria, if she had even the slightest interest in sex. But she doesn't. Which means he's pretty much stuck with me or B. The minute he sees her, he'll forget I'm even alive." Turning to face him, she gave him a wry smile. "That sounded pretty pathetic… but you'll notice that since she showed up I'm not exactly pining away for _him_ either. That's just the way things are."

It was none of O'Neill's business, but he wanted to know, so asked since at that moment she had the privacy to tell him to go to hell if she wanted. "If you feel that way, why did you try to kill her?"

Faith was much better at hiding her emotions than Buffy was, and when her face went blank he couldn't tell what she was thinking until long seconds passed, but to his surprise she actually answered the question. "I was jealous and bitter and destined to die young, so figured I'd take 'the good one' down with me. That would show them. I'd made a mistake, but figured I should get a pass because overall I did more good than bad. When they wouldn't let me shrug it off, I blamed _her_ for making a Federal case out of it. Since they were treating me like the bad guy I figured I may as well act the part."

After pausing, she continued, obviously choosing her words carefully. "I don't really know what I was thinking. Or even if I was thinking at all, or just reacting in survival mode. I made choices that seem pretty stupid --_were_ pretty fucking stupid!-- but I expected to die and nobody really liked me and I had nothing and it just didn't seem to matter. When I _didn't_ actually die I had to either finish the job myself, or take a long hard look at what I'd become. I went to prison because Buffy demanded it. No other reason, really. I could have escaped any time I wanted, but it actually helped me. I figured society had a punishment for what I'd done, so once I'd served my sentence I'd find absolution." After a short, bitter laugh, she continued. "Turns out it doesn't quite work that way. You either come out not giving a shit, maybe even blaming the victim, or still feeling guilty as hell, and knowing you're not going to _stop_ feeling guilty so long as the guy you killed remains dead." Once again she paused, collecting her thoughts, looking right through him.

"Angel helped a lot. He knew what I was going through. Had gone through it himself. Brooded a long time, but reached a few conclusions along the way. He'd tell me that I will _never_ achieve redemption, but 'redemption' isn't the point of the exercise. It's the _attempt_ that counts. It's the path you walk, not a goal you reach. I can't undo the things I've done, but I can try to make up for it out of respect for the people I hurt. I'm not like B: I'm no _hero_! The reason I'm here is because it's the only way I can give something back to a world where I took away people who were far better than I was or will ever be. Even if _she_ never forgives me, I have to do it for _them_."

It wasn't an explanation O'Neill had expected, and he quickly reassessed his apparently gravely mistaken first impressions of the girl. Although 'girl' was not quite accurate. Given how fast time passed on this world, she was now considerably older than Buffy, well into her late-twenties. He had mistaken her bravado for 'teenage rebellion,' not understanding the deep anguish underlying her behavior. At that instant he felt a deep kinship for Faith, an understanding he had never shared with Buffy or even any of the people on his team. They were all _real_ heroes, fighting the good fight to protect the weak and defend the world from the invading alien hordes. Faith was different. Her motivations were different. And very much like his own. Without intending to, without even conscious thought, he found himself blurting out something he tried not to speak of to anyone. "My son shot himself."

When her brown eyes snapped up to look into his, shock obvious, O'Neill found himself unable to hold back the rest, blurting it out despite his every effort to stay silent. "With _my_ gun. He was only twelve years old! I'd always been so careful with it, but I was tired, or I forgot, or I was just plain _stupid_; and he found it. He was just so damned _young_! I still think about him every day. That old expression 'time heals all wounds?' It's not true. Some wounds _never_ heal. Maybe they never should. Maybe some mistakes _shouldn't_ be forgiven. Everyone else has moved on, and mostly I pretend I have too just to make _them_ feel better. But I fucked up _real_ bad, and I don't _want_ to forget it."

That was enough. His voice was choked, and he couldn't believe he had just blurted it out like that to a virtual stranger. But a stranger, he suddenly realized, who _understood_. Understood in ways that Carter or Buffy or Teal'c never would. For the first time, he wondered if he might have made a mistake in his assessment of this 'Angel' creature. He'd read the report on Angelus, and figured his crimes were so horrific as to be unforgivable. But was _anyone_ ever truly beyond redemption? This was a matter of some concern to O'Neill, since he had failed in the most important task given to a man: he hadn't been able to protect his son. It sounded like Angel had understood not only his culpability, but his responsibility for atonement. Absolution was a _path_, not a destination. A path he had walked one day at a time. Just like Faith. And just like O'Neill himself.

They shared a look of sudden and complete understanding. The sheer unexpectedness of it left them both confused, and there was a short silence as they both wondered what to say. Strangely it wasn't uncomfortable. There was no attraction, and both realized there never would be between them. They were beyond that. Without ever looking for it, they'd found an actual _friend_, someone who truly understood the other the way not even their closest loved ones did. Both of them realized it, and both saw no reason to discuss it further. It simply _was_. Embarrassed by an emotional connection she had only shared with one other person, Faith struggled to quickly change the subject. "Anyway, enough about my retarded history. I actually did want to talk to you about something besides your imminent –and extremely painful-- demise if you try to stop B. I've been thinking about your situation with the Replicators during my spare time, and figure I know how to beat them."

The swift change in topic caught O'Neill by surprise. He was just as flustered by the sudden connection as she was, but he was always open to suggestions on how to handle the Replicators. Humans were better at 'thinking outside the box' than the Asgard, which was why Thor came to them for ideas. O'Neill doubted that there were many humans capable of thinking more 'outside the box' than Faith. He doubted that she even knew what 'the box' meant. "Oh?"

"'Fundamental assumptions,' Jack. If your tactics aren't working, it's probably because you have miscalculated your fundamental assumptions. It took me about five seconds to see where you screwed up. You even met that chick who invented the Replicators, and _still_ didn't figure it out! No real surprise. Bunch'a anal-retentive military morons will never look outside of their own narrow field of vision."

Now he was getting a bit nervous. She looked too happy, and he had already figured out that a gleeful Faith was the most dangerous Faith. "Oh?" His verbal skills were also being affected, it appeared.

"Yup. You saw a hot young black chick who was all alone and figure she whipped up these toys for companionship. _Riiiight_. Because the first thing a hot young black chick wants when she's all alone is the companionship of _metal insects_. She creates a vibrating metal chip which can combine into any conceivable form and she's gonna use it to make _metal fucking insects_!? Are you _dense_?! You have obviously never shared a jail cell with a hot young black chick."

O'Neill was looking really nervous as he finally saw where she was heading. He tried to interject, but she refused to be distracted. "_I_ have. Hot young black chicks separated from hot young black dudes are not interested in _metal insects_ for 'companionship.' They have other uses for 'vibrating metal devices.' Home-girl was developing the universe's most advanced, adaptable _Sybian, _and you pinheads thought it was R2-fucking-D2."

Frantically looking around for someone to rescue him, O'Neill didn't really want to hear any more, but Faith had him in her sights and wasn't letting him off easy. "So the hot young black chick falls into a coma or whatever, and these Replicator things are on their own for who knows how long, unable to fulfill the reason for their existence. Then, finally, you guys show up. The first woman they see in ages, and what does Carter do? She _shoots_ them! No wonder they're all pissed off! An entire _race_ of fucking _vibrators_, just waiting to fulfill their destiny, and the first chick they see in centuries cuts them off with a fucking Uzi! So now they're not just pissed; they're _horny_ and pissed and… wait a minute! Where you going!"

O'Neill had been trying to escape when Faith grabbed his arm, glaring at him, daring him to find even a _single_ error in her logic. Suicide, or perhaps chewing off his arm to escape was looking like a viable solution to his dilemma when salvation unexpectedly arrived, as Buffy suddenly showed up and gently grasped Faith's arm. Instantly releasing the Colonel, Faith turned to face Buffy, who was smiling at her, amused by what she had just overheard. "You've got to admit, none of your planners ever came up with _that_ theory, right Jack?"

Too relieved by his escape to notice the amusement in her voice, O'Neill answered as if the question had been meant seriously. "No, I'm pretty sure no one else came up with that one."

Looking proud of herself, Faith managed to tear her eyes from Buffy long enough to excitedly proclaim that she wasn't finished. "I got this theory about the Ori, too. Wanna hear it?!"

Face expressionless, O'Neill just stared at her. "_No_! No I would _not_."

Faith was a bit indignant that he seemed not to appreciate her genius. "Hey! _I'm_ not the one who named an entire class of Ori battleships the 'Commode' class!"

This time it was O'Neill's turn to blush, especially with Buffy looking on, silently laughing at him. "Well, they look… hell, I never thought they'd _agree_ to the name…"

Pouting far more sensually than Buffy did when she didn't get to demonstrate her cleverness, Faith looked down at the smaller girl, received some kind of silent signal, and glared at O'Neill. "I'm gonna tell Teal'c. I'm sure _he'll_ find it brilliant."

For a few seconds they both watched her tight ass as she slinked away from them, until, without looking away, O'Neill came to a decision. "She said she'd kill me if I tried to shoot the Key before you use it to fight the First."

Simply nodding, Buffy patted his arm comfortingly. "Yeah, I heard. Okay, so I was eavesdropping! I heard about your son, but never knew the full story. I'm really sorry, Jack. And I will never mention it again. But I am surprised she figured out the minor missing piece of my fabulous plan. She's really starting to get good at this! But she didn't need to threaten you. You wouldn't have done it anyway. You're a _soldier_, and despite their uniforms, the people who gave you those orders were _not_. You're not going to follow idiotic orders from a REMF –I just _looove_ that acronym!-- when the chain of Command here goes through _me_. If you didn't like something, you'd tell me so to my face. Besides, the spell making everyone forget is there to _protect_ the Key. The more you know about it, the stronger it will fight back. You figure out who it is, and try to kill said individual-and-or-thing, you will soon not remember your name, or how to chew solid food, or pretty much anything else. The Key can protect itself, so I didn't worry too much about it. I'm not so sure if the other SGC people coming through are smart enough to figure that out, but you'll notice how the assignments are divided up. They won't have the time, resources, or manpower to overcome the slayers protecting the Key, and by the time the slayers are neutralized the Key will be gone and it will be too late for them to act."

Once again, she had surprised him. Turning to face the tiny, unexpectedly competent Slayer, O'Neill figured he may as well put all his cards on the table, seeing as how he'd apparently already made a decision without really knowing how he'd arrived at it. "So you knew about my orders. Or guessed, and planned for it."

Giving him a casual shrug, Buffy looked around the room, at all the young slayers nervously talking amongst themselves, and occasionally with some of the SGC troops. "And I'm thinking that if you're wondering if I was able to plan far enough ahead to protect the Key from potential assassins, did I also plan a fall-back option after my oh-so-dramatic and unexpected capitulation to the President's demands?" When he simply nodded, she continued. "All I will say is that _if_ your people do what the President said they would do, there is a remote possibility they _can_ do what they've been ordered to do. On the other hand, if they don't do _precisely_ what they were told to do –if, say, someone by the name of 'Kinsey' has modified their orders—then the President's plan is screwed. I promised I would give it a shot, but the minute his plan goes off-track, the gloves come off, and I immediately proceed with Plan C."

Feeling his stomach drop, O'Neill nervously cleared his throat. "I don't recall any 'Plan C."

"And you never will, if your people keep their part of the bargain. They do something moronic, and we do things _my_ way."

He considered his options for a second, before deciding that she would play fair. In truth, he had a real problem with his orders forbidding SG-1 from leading the assault on the First. The guys who would be leading it were good people… but they weren't _his_ people, which by definition made them _second_ best. And Carter _would_ be with them. They needed her technical expertise to close the portal, but given that the locals had their own translator, the Pentagon had insisted that Daniel go with the rest of SG-1 to locate and retrieve the supernatural tomes they intended to use to defend the planet against future mystical threats. Jack didn't have the slightest doubt as to who had been behind splitting up his team, and he didn't trust Kinsey any more than Buffy did. But he also needed to know just how much she knew, and how far her plans had gone. The last thing he needed way to trust his people's lives to someone suicidal. "Daniel figures you have less than a year to live."

Giving him a heartbreakingly tired smile, Buffy gestured towards where Faith had trapped Teal'c and Carter in a corner to awe them with her deductions. "I knew the minute I saw her on your world."

Frowning, O'Neill paused to consider the implications. 'Fundamental assumptions,' Faith had noted. The premises they had used to build their theoretical models. None of them had even considered the possibility that Buffy might have realized the implications of Faith's relative youth. After all, if she _had_, there was no way she would have inadvertently blurted out the truth of their relationship to this world's Faith where the SGC people could overhear it, and report it. O'Neill's eyes narrowed as he considered that thought. _Had_ the comment really been 'inadvertent?' Given the consequences to her reputation, everyone had taken for granted it wasn't done deliberately. But Buffy was a _hero_, with all of the attendant masochism involved in being one. She wouldn't be overly concerned about how the information would affect _her_, only how it would affect _Faith_. And how had it affected Faith? It had put her at the center of a political firestorm. It had forced the authorities to take her out of Denver and put her up in detention in Boston, where she was surrounded by armed guards and a hundred lawyers were clamoring to be on her case. She was under a media spotlight which prevented the government from touching her.

Only a few days later, the SGC had learned that Faith would be the next girl Called. Had there been no media circus, State Security would have quietly taken her away to be 'reeducated' into being whatever they wanted her to be.

Buffy had planned it all out from the start. And they'd never even realized it.

Had the affair itself been part of her plan, or just the catalyst for coming up with a plan? Staring down at the girl, O'Neill refused to ask. He was fairly certain he already knew the answer anyway. She wouldn't use people that way. She'd use the SGC and their resources, but she would never manipulate their emotions to do so. He frowned slightly as he recalled her warning them that she was 'changing,' and hoped like hell she hadn't 'changed' that much. And he recalled Faith's warning, that she could be as cold and calculating as he was. "Why didn't you tell us?"

When she met his eyes this time, she had gained control of her emotions, and didn't even blink. "Because any slayer Called after me needs to know that she can never, _ever_, trust the government. _Any_ government. They'll lie to them, use them, and in the end betray them."

He winced as her bitter tone. But at least it meant she was planning long-term. "How many other things have you done that we have completely misinterpreted?"

She gave him a thin smile, having a fairly good idea where he was heading. "To make this work I need people who can fight the monsters once the slayers have been deactivated. Your people at the SGC were my first pick, but when it started to look like they wouldn't let you do it I needed a backup option. The only obvious candidates were the Jaffa. After seeing Teal'c in action I knew that somebody really good at unarmed combat had trained him, so when I asked you to get me someone who knew how to fight I was fairly certain you'd bring in someone like Bra'tac. If I could impress him I'd have a backup source of manpower just in case things didn't go so well with you guys."

From the way O'Neill's face went blank Buffy knew the SGC had considered that possibility when they brought in the Jaffa Master, but had dismissed the likelihood of her thinking along those lines. When she met his blank stare with a smug grin he had to ask. "So why didn't you go with them instead of capitulating to the President's demands?"

"Because I'm _not_ Jaffa, I suppose. If I'd been forced to go with them, the Asgard would have probably written off Earth as a useful ally. The First is so dangerous that if I had _no other choice_ I'd have brought them in, but I finally decided that I can work with what I've got here. Plus, there was no way I could have come up with a plan this good without your help. The Jaffa are good soldiers, Jack, but they don't have your gift for tactics. So I suppose it really came down to the fact that I needed _you_, and you're too patriotic to have helped me if it meant the country you love would have lost its alliance with the Asgard.

"Plus, well, he did have a valid point about the consequences of going with my plan. I'm not so sure people would freak out to the point of nuclear war just because I used the Key to take out the First, but those in power on your world are going to have a conniption when they find out how much the power structure is going to change in the not-too-distant future now that the StarGate has gone public. I don't know how they will react once they do figure it out, but I do know that _now_ isn't the time to find out."

He was silent for a moment, considering. Finally, obviously putting considerable effort into keeping his voice even, he asked if there was anything else.

Before answering, she blessed him with a dazzling smile. "You mean, aside from the fact that the First knows I'm alive, knows we're here, and knows our plans?"

"_Jeezus Kee-ryst_, Buffy! Why the hell didn't you tell me that before?!"

She just shrugged. "Nothing you could do about it. We either do this or we don't, and we _have to_ do this. The odds right now are the best they are going to get. I don't know how this will play out, Jack. But the visions are reliable. They're also _all I've got_! I either trust them or I might as well pack it in. I don't know if we can actually _defeat_ the First. But I do know that if _we_ can't do it _now_, nobody else will _ever_ be able to. The odds are as good as they are ever going to get. All of the Ascended races –_all_ of them!—have arranged for it to be this way. They call it the Great Game, and they have all decided to bring it to a conclusion. Everything has been carefully arranged to level the playing field. Entire armies of Ascended beings are manipulating time and space to ensure that neither side gains an unfair advantage. 'Good' and 'Evil' have decided to play more-or-less fairly. 50/50 odds are the best we will ever get."

He didn't remember much about what they had discussed when coming up with the plan, thanks to the Key making them forget, but O'Neill asked a question he doubted he had asked previously. "Why _now_? I know why _you_ want to fight now, but why _them_? The Ascended races? They are pretty much immortal. They've got all the time there is. Why are _they_ bringing this to a head _now_?"

"Because the Key is waking up." At his look of confusion, Buffy tried to explain without going so far that it would trigger the forgetfulness spell. "For 13 billion years the Key has been in existence, 'alive,' but barely sentient. Recently it has grown more self-aware, and more aware of the external universe beyond it. About eight hundred years ago it managed to communicate with another living being, an empathic monk by the name of Tarnis. He set up something called the Order of Dagon. Their sole function was to protect and attempt to communicate with the Key. Which they managed to do well enough to let the Key know that it was in danger, and should take steps to protect itself. It finally managed to figure this out about four years ago, my time.

"To all intents and purposes, the Key is only _twelve years old_… well, as measured by the way time passes in this universe. Right now it's still pretty young, but it's growing up fast. It's _learning_ fast. The First needs to attack _now_, before the Key has the time to understand its own powers. Until now, the Old Ones had to hide it, and the First was always able to eventually figure out where they put it. But now the Key is learning how to hide _itself_, and the First might not be able to locate it next time. If the First wants to do this, it needs to do it _now_, before the Key starts making its own decisions. Everyone else wants the Key to fight back _now_, while they still have some degree of control over it. Nobody wants to take the chance that it won't give a damn about the Great Game once it's powerful enough to tell them to kiss off. They've spent billions of years playing this stupid Game. They want an answer. This is their last chance to get one.

"Also, in this reality magic enables the Key to assume human form, and evolve at human speed. If it is released back into the wild, it will revert to its old, slow form of awareness, but it will keep its human memories and emotions. It might take a billion years for the Key to face the First again, and the human part of it might be pretty pissed about losing all of its friends because some Ascended race screwed up. To placate it, but not unduly irritate the First, those Ascended races are going to make certain everything is done fairly, and that anyone who interferes will be punished with some serious degree of harshness. Because it won't be long before the Key will be in a position to punish those Ascended races who piss it off.

"If the First wins, the rest of us lose. The Key will survive, but will be trapped in its barely-aware state for the next few billion years. Some of the most powerful Ascended races _might_ survive, but existing in a universe they won't be able to understand or control. On the other hand if the _Key_ wins, the universe continues pretty much the way it should. Everything changes except for the Key, because it is not really a part of this universe, but part of the _First's_ universe. So as time passes, galaxies move apart, the stars burn out, space grows cold, and even the Ascended races grow weak. _Except for the Key_! In 30, 50, maybe 100 billion years from now, the Key will be the only real power source left. The Ascended are thinking _real_ long term. In addition to ending the Great Game, they don't want 'the only power source left' to be irritated with them because they pissed it off a hundred billion years earlier."

O'Neill stared at her, unable to believe what she was saying. "They're worried that it will hold a grudge for _a hundred billion years_?! Are you _kidding_ me?!"

Buffy simply shrugged. "I would." To the Key, even such an unimaginably huge timeframe would only seem like a few centuries. With time passing ten thousand times slower for the Key than it did for a human, not even the stars were constant. If the Key won, she suspected Dawn would have some influence in its future evolution, and the Key would adapt to the speed of time in this universe. But first, it had to _win_.

Noting that her remark could be construed as a threat, O'Neill decided to leave it without comment. "So we're back to square one. This isn't about _preventing_ the First from winning; this is about _beating_ it. That's not in the plan. Not the one you _agreed_ to, anyway. We never did come up with something that would work. So how are you gonna _beat_ the First? It's a _god_, Buffy!"

Her expression was calm, implacable, as she answered. "No, it _isn't_! And _that_ is how I'm going to win." When he looked confused she explained. "It thinks it knows 'our' plan, but actually it knows '_your_' plan. 'We' might not have come up with something, but '_I_' sure as hell did. You don't think I'd risk this if I hadn't, do you? What I realized was that it _used_ to be a god. It still _thinks_ it is one. But it became human and has human weaknesses now. All I have to do is find the right one and use it at the right time."

It was a legitimate point, and O'Neill found himself nodding. "Maybe, but first you gotta find that one weakness. You sure sound like you think you did, but I don't recall you mentioning it to me. It's like you two are in a dance, every move choreographed, moving faster and faster, just waiting for the first one to make a mistake. How are you going to ensure that _it_ makes the first mistake?"

Buffy seemed surprised he'd even ask. "I'm going to _cheat_, of course! Notice I didn't say I was going to 'beat it.' I said I was going to '_win_!' There is a difference, and the First doesn't realize that. Gods have real issues with the whole 'psychic' thing. Most of them don't really believe it is even possible to foretell the future. They're like uber-scientists and figure the future can be only be predicted with a 'high degree of accuracy,' but it's impossible to _know _what will happen. They tend to discount or dismiss psychic visions. Even better, right now the First is a _slayer_, and probably experiences slayer Dreams. It will know that the outcome of a Dream can be altered by its own actions. I'm betting that even if it does know I'm psychic, it won't put much credence into the accuracy of Elizabeth's psychic visions, and will simply assume that it can counter those visions by the fact that it can see alternate dimensions, including alternate timelines. Its own experience will work against it.

"It doesn't realize that the outcome foreseen by a Slayer Dream can be altered, but Elizabeth's visions are pretty much cast in stone. So it will be working to change what it sees in a Dream, without realizing that I not only have a lot more experience with Slayer Dreams and probably get a lot more information from them that it does, but that Elizabeth's gift is on a whole 'nother level than Slayer Dreams. More importantly, _it_ is reacting to _me_, attempting to prevent me from doing what I _might_ do, and _that_ is its big mistake. _I'm_ not the one it should be worried about. I've said all along that I can't beat the First. Only the _Key_ can do it. Everything the rest of us are doing is just a distraction. All the Ascended beings doing their thing in a billion alternate universes. You SGC guys, and the slayers. The First's army of slayers and demons. All of it, everything we do, is just a distraction from the real objective.

"It thinks I'm trying to _beat_ it. It's done everything it could to make it personal, to make me _hate_ it, to make me so angry I will do anything to kill it with my bare hands. Slayers tend to do that, you know." She gave him a kind of tired, self-deprecating smile. "I had a kind of epiphany when I was watching 'The Crocodile Hunter' back at the Mountain. After all the lessons you and George and Giles tried to teach me, it was finally Steve Irwin who broke through. He said that every crocodile will react the same way to the same provocation. Once you knew what they will do to specific stimuli, you could predict _exactly_ how every crocodile would react to that same stimulus. That's when I realized that ever since I met the First all those years ago back in Sunnydale, it has been effectively poking me with a big stick, acting all 'The Slayer Hunter,' knowing that if it _provoked_ me a certain way, I would _react_ in a predictable way. So far I've been doing exactly what it expected me to do. But the secret is, _I'm not a fucking lizard_! I know what it's doing, and I know what it expects. That is _not_ what it is going to get! Not this time. Instead of a futile '_mano-a-girlo_' fight to the finish, all I want to do is _distract_ it for three seconds. That's all we'll need for the Key to act. That's what everything we are doing is working towards: buying us _three seconds_."

Spitting out the final two words with an intense, almost furious whisper, O'Neill knew that was all the information he was going to get. He'd really like to know how anyone could surprise a god, even for three seconds, but knew she wouldn't tell him. Given his suspicions as to how she'd played them all to protect Faith from State Security however, he was willing to bet she could do the same to the First. Mostly because he trusted Thor. The Asgard figured she was the right person for the job, and evidently even more powerful races were betting everything on the fact that if she couldn't do it, nobody else could. The threat of extermination should they interfere didn't really sway him. His concern was simpler: did the job need to be done, and was she the best person to do it? All the experts agreed that it did and she was. The people trying to stop her were mostly assholes.

And the Key was only twelve years old, the same age Charlie had been when he… Decision made, O'Neill wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Three seconds. We can do that. Bitch will never see it coming."

Her smile of gratitude was worth more than any Presidential citation.

----

Several hundred miles away, in a protected room deep within its heavily-defended mansion, the First smiled. Its host body had aged gracefully, and although that body was now more than 30 years old it was still as beautiful and supple as one ten years younger. At least it would have been, were it not for that smile. There was something cold, something inherently sadistic in both the smile and the expression on her otherwise beautiful face. Ever since the death of its most potent Worshippers, the First had become less stable, quick to anger and barely able to restrain its rage when anything didn't go its way. The loss had been partially offset by its increase in temporal power. As Slayers Inc. effectively took control of security operations for much of the planet, ever more people owed obeisance to the First, if only on a subconscious level. That respect helped, as did the fear and intimidation, but couldn't come close to making up for the intensity of the devotion provided by its lost worshippers.

Still, it took good care of that body, especially since sex was the only form of true 'worship' left after the destruction of the Retreat. In its original form it had never experienced the euphoria of mammalian copulation, so it expended extra effort to indulge itself in maintaining a physical form which attracted partners. Especially now, when sex was the only alternative to the feeling of power it once derived from the veneration of its Worshippers. Many of those partners left with deep reasons to regret seeking such an encounter. The First's tastes in sex were as twisted as its other sociopathic tendencies might suggest they would be. But not even sadomasochistic sex turned on the First as much as did crushing its enemies.

It knew that the original Buffy Summers was still alive. It knew _precisely_ what she intended to do next. It now had a pretty good idea as to how she came to be alive, and when the time came, those who violated her instructions would be severely punished for doing so. But in the meantime it was better to wait, and watch, and know where the danger lie rather than be surprised by something unexpected. So it hadn't exterminated 'Elizabeth' Summers, or her race, or the Asgard, or even the Ancients. Those which survived the upcoming Change would feel her wrath in her own good time. But for years she had pretended not to know what her enemies were doing, had refrained from acting as they gathered their strength and prepared their attack.

It helped that there wasn't much reason for concern. Beating Buffy Summers the first time had been almost ludicrously easy. Doing so again wasn't likely to be much more difficult. Plus, all of her opponents were placing their entire resources at Buffy's disposal, clarifying the situation and making her own defensive posture simpler. Normally the First believed in preemptively destroying its enemies, but in this case there wasn't much reason for concern. She could afford to indulge Buffy, even permit her to win every single battle, just so long as she didn't win the _last_ battle. In fact, it would be rather convenient if Buffy's little group slaughtered the bulk of her forces, as they had become not just redundant, but an actual irritant she would rather not have to deal with. And while they amused themselves slaughtering extraneous life-forms the First neither cared about nor needed, they would be distracted from doing anything actually harmful.

As the portal mechanism neared completion, the First kept a careful eye out for variances in the interdimensional flux which would indicate the creation of a link from another universe. Given that there were far fewer dimensional portals opening than there used to be, even the subtle signals from the non-magical Quantum Mirror were easy to spot through the background clutter. Within minutes of her arrival, the First knew that Buffy had returned. Her sister's organization had been infiltrated by more than a dozen of the First's agents. They didn't need radios or hard-to-conceal equipment to report back. Their Psychic Inhibitor devices were simply --and undetectably-- deactivated. The First had a front-row seat to every meeting, every strategy session the Ronin undertook, and had been monitoring their progress nearly from the point of their inception.

It knew the final assault was imminent. It knew every detail of its enemies' plans. Under other circumstances the First might have enjoyed more of a challenge. Not this time. Not when its moment of destiny was at hand. Not when it was preparing to return the universe to the state it should be in, and wipe from existence this perversion of True Life.

Not when everything it had worked for since the dawn of time was about to come to fruition.

There was, however, one small, almost insignificant concern. Buffy seemed to have unexpectedly sincere confidence in the prophetic accuracy of Elizabeth's 'visions.' The First did not share that confidence. The 'future' was notoriously unstable. The slightest change to the present could have a remarkably profound effect on how events played out in the future. With so many influencing events, it was virtually impossible to accurately predict individual outcomes ahead of time unless impeding events were forbidden. Any alteration in influencing events, and the outcome would change. As a god, the First could travel in time, to a degree, so knew that on a deep, personal level.

Buffy, however, seemed to think differently. And it was true that Elizabeth's predictions had proven to be remarkably accurate. But that was only because nobody knew about those predictions, so hadn't taken active measures to prevent them from coming to pass. Now that the First knew about those visions, it would take extra special care not to do anything which might have the slightest impact on the result Elizabeth foresaw. Not yet, anyway.

Not until the final moment. Not until it was too late, when not even a 'seer' had the time to see what was coming.

Not until the final trap was in place.

Even those who could see the future could be caught by surprise.

With the right bait.


	22. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

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**Return To Normal**

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**Chapter Twenty One**

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It wasn't until several hours later that the nervous slayers started leaving, most finally comfortable that they understood their assignments and hoping to get some rest before the Big Day. They had all been studying the printouts of their individual missions, many coming up to Dawn or her lieutenants for clarification on various issues. Buffy was openly delighted with the way her sister handled their concerns. She was calm, competent, and reassuring. The way Hammond would reassure frightened rookies under similar circumstances. The way Buffy herself had _not_ handled the Potentials back in Sunnydale. She tried to make up for that error this time around, introducing herself to small groups of slayers, answering their questions, offering advice when asked for it but otherwise not imposing. Basically making the effort to put a face to the Plan they would be risking their lives to bring to fruition, to show that she was a real person and not the caricature they had heard about in whispered rumors.

She caught the eye of a few of the surviving Sunnydale Potentials who had sided with Dawn –Vi, Rona, and Shannon were all whispering together and occasionally watching her, their expressions more contemplative than angry—and gave them a hesitant smile, which was tentatively returned. It meant a lot to her that five out of the six surviving SP's had joined the Ronin. Not able to fully hide her nervousness, Buffy took the first step, moving over to join them, letting them initiate any conversation, listening instead of lecturing, demonstrating that she had not just changed but learned from her mistakes. She was amazed to discover how little it took for them to warm up to her. All they wanted was a little effort on her part to_listen_, to treat them as partners who had something to contribute, and not chess pieces to be used as she saw fit. They, in turn, were still embarrassed about kicking her out of her own house when she had been doing her best to protect them. Finally, with audible sighs, all agreed that they wished they had done things differently back in Sunnydale. The expressions of regret were all it took. Whatever resentments anyone might still be holding were washed away by the simple, if round-about, apologies.

The SP's were all 'old pro's' now and didn't need advice or encouragement, so mostly they talked about what had been going on in their various lives since the last time they met just before Sunnydale fell into a crater. Every few minutes they were interrupted by other slayers, who weren't so experienced, and _were_ looking for the sort of reassurance the veterans either did not need, or wanted to _pretend_ they no longer needed. Although she was willing to offer advice, Buffy declined to give 'permission' for any changes any of the slayers came up with. Whenever anyone sought such approval, she suggested they speak with Dawn. She wasn't sure if she was being tested by those girls, but would not have tried to usurp Dawn's authority in any event. Things might have been different had Dawn been the sort of frightened, over-compensating authoritarian Buffy herself had been back the last time she faced the First, but even after all her lessons Buffy was pleased to realize that her sister had better people skills than she did. It was a far cry from the girl she remembered during her whiney youth, and nice to see that she wouldn't have to try to pass along Hammond's lessons in 'people management.'

What really impressed her –and, she suspected, O'Neill as well—was the way her sister subtly guided the girls into answering their own questions, offering them suggestions, noting available resources, but expecting them to come up with their own tactics. Each team had a specific mission, but was tasked with figuring out how to achieve that objective on their own. Having something to do calmed most of them down, and the ones who panicked at the idea of having to assume such responsibility were quickly reassigned to work under girls who demonstrated more adaptability. More experienced soldiers from the SGC –as well as Riley's unit, which by an amazing coincidence had 'just happened' to be in the area—calmed them down with suggestions and the occasional war story.

What they were doing was a fairly standard op for any military or police tactical squad. An assault on a fortified position, differing only in the scale of the opposition, and the magnitude of the consequences of failure. Basically they were attacking the First's fortified compound outside of Cleveland. Once inside, they needed to find and capture the Scythe, while Buffy herself captured Willow –a task now being assumed by Xander-- and another team disabled the nuclear weapons the First had conned out of a gullible government by promising to use them only to close any dangerous mystical portals. They had their own mages who would attempt to break the spell should Willow refuse to do so. If they failed, the mission ended and everybody ran for the hills. If they succeeded, the now merely human ex-slayers would fall back and provide fire support, but otherwise keep their heads down while the SGC troops attacked the building housing the portal facility. Carter would then use the Mutari device to restore Illyria's powers so she could kill the First's host body, and then jump into the open portal before her own powers exploded. With its host dead but no new slayer to jump into, the First will have no choice but to call it a day.

---

It took several hours before the questions slowed enough for Buffy's core group of friends and allies to get together without being constantly interrupted. Mostly they discussed any final changes to the plan. Buffy made no mention of Plan C, although inquiring glances from both Dawn and Faith made it clear they both expected just such an animal was lurking in the shadows somewhere. When various increasingly less subtle hints failed to get a response, Faith could no longer restrain her curiosity. "It's a good plan, B. Nice and flexible. Timing points based on psychic visions, most of them verified by multiple seers, each separate unit free to adapt by reinforcing success and limiting failure. Only I can't help but notice that it's a little short on the details as to how we're going to get into the Portal Facility. That place is a goddamn fortress. We're going to need some heavy artillery to break in, and the SGC didn't bring any tanks along with them."

Honestly, she wasn't trying to deflect the topic. It was just the way her mind worked. Looking off into the distance, face scrunched up in concentration, Buffy pondered the important part of Faith's question. "I wonder where the name 'tank' comes from? The military usually likes to use cool names like 'stingray' and 'Stratofortress' and 'stealth.' _Tank_ is just so… _blah! _Howcum they didn't call them 'mobile fortified cannons' or 'armored vehicular destructivators' or something cool?"

When nobody looked especially surprised to hear Buffy wander off-topic, O'Neill sighed. "You can blame the Brits."

Buffy looked over at him speculatively. "I usually do, but why in this particular instance?"

"The first ones were top secret weapons. The World War I equivalent of the Manhattan Project. They were delivered to the battlefield at the Somme packed in big wooden crates labeled 'Water Tanks.'" He shrugged. "The name stuck."

Nodding her understanding, Buffy returned to the topic at hand with her typical mercurial leap. "Don't worry about getting into the Portal room. Even if Illyria can't open the door, the First will make sure you can get in. Just like it will make sure we get the Scythe. Remember that pretty much everything we're doing is a distraction. The First wants this to happen as much as we do. If it has to sacrifice all of its followers and its other allies to get us there, it will do just that. What does it care if they all get slaughtered? If it succeeds in using this stupid portal they're all going to die anyway, so what does it matter?"

Frowning at her words, Faith was a bit put out with telling all of her girls to risk their lives on a 'distraction.' "Huh? I don't get it. The First knows how strong Illyria is, so will want to keep as far away from her as possible. What makes you think it is going to do all this stuff just because we _want_ it to?! Why would it do that? And how the hell would it _know_ what we want it to do in the first place!?"

Buffy shrugged. "It will do it because I've been telling everyone that if it _doesn't_, we back off. Since it doesn't _want_ us to back off, it will give us whatever we need to make us continue. And, it knows what we need…" she paused to take a deep breath, knowing how her next words would go over "…because some of the girls here will have told it."

She braced for the inevitable, wincing when just about everyone shouted at her at once. Faith, China, and Rona were indignant that she would accuse their slayers of betrayal. For a fraction of a second Dawn's expression seemed not just indignant but almost _betrayed_, before she gained control of her instinctive reaction and paused to consider Buffy's outrageous accusation. Dawn tried to keep any tone of accusation from her words when she spoke above the fray. "Why would anyone on our side want to _warn the First_?! And how_could_ they even if they wanted to? Andrew's team is monitoring all cell phone frequencies. The land lines are blocked. There's no way they could have known where we would stop to pre-position bugs in this building. The First hasn't been able to monitor us ever since you brought us the Psychic Inhibitors. I know what you thought the last time you were here, but don't be deceived; our security is actually pretty good."

Not once looking over towards O'Neill, Buffy tried to recall the points he had made when he warned her of this issue back when they were planning the confrontation. It had taken some time for him to convince _her_, and Buffy did not have anywhere close to having that much time to convince the others. "The First _reads minds_, Dawn. It doesn't need to answer a phone. The Psychic Inhibitors_work_, but only if they have power and are in close proximity to the person who doesn't want her mind read. A lot of your girls are teenagers. One of them might have dropped theirs, and never realized it was broken. They'll have wandered away from it while they were talking with friends. Or they'll have left it in their bedroom while they took a shower. Or they'll have forgotten to charge the batteries. Even if it was only once per month, or even once per _year_, given the number of slayers you have, the First had enough minds to reach that it could get a pretty accurate assessment of our plans. That would be true even if nobody was_deliberately_ feeding it information. I don't really think we can count on that to be true either. We can _hope_, but we can't_count_ on it."

There were expressions of horror on several faces as they realized that what she was saying actually made sense. Had the suggestion come from an outsider they would have been far more reluctant to concede the point, which was why O'Neill had been adamant that Buffy be the one to suggest it. Plus, he hadn't told her, but he felt that since she was the person who was supposedly In Charge, he wanted the others to be impressed by her ability to consider all aspects of the situation. His own troops wouldn't care –they already had full confidence in their own chain of command-- but the slayers would. Faith was scowling at the device she had been continuously wearing for several years… which had made for some interesting conversations on those nights when she wasn't alone in bed. "If it turns out the First got everything it needed, what the hell was the point in getting these damned things for us in the first place?!"

They had all been sitting down, but Buffy rose to her feet, not really thinking about it, but just subconsciously acting the way Hammond had taught her. When you needed to lead a discussion, you needed to be _standing_, dominating the room, the focus of attention. O'Neill had to conceal a smile when he noted that even her mannerisms, the way she used her hands to illustrate points, was modeled after Hammond. He'd been a good teacher. He was relieved that Buffy had turned out to be a good student. O'Neill wasn't counting on the girls being of much use once the spell was dropped, but he desperately wanted them to at least not panic and get in the way. It would be Buffy's responsibility to see to it that they didn't.

She looked at everyone before speaking directly to Faith. "'The point' was to keep everyone mostly safe for the past few years! The First couldn't_use_ any information it got by listening in if it wanted to ensure that you didn't realize it was listening in! You ever heard of the phrase 'being sent to Coventry?' The Brits knew the town would be bombed, but couldn't evacuate or the Germans would know they knew. You see the resemblance? In our case, we know the First knows, but it doesn't know that we know it knows! Just as important, remember that the First wants this confrontation even more than we do. It's going to give us _anything we want_ to ensure that it happens. This was a good way to let it know what sort of bait we are looking for. Now that it knows, it will _make sure_ we can get to the Scythe. It will _make sure_ that our initial assault is successful.

"It's only when the situation_really_ comes to a head that it will use what it knows against us. But it doesn't know that we _already know_ that it knows, so our job is to ensure that we _don't_ do what it expects us to do once it _starts_ using that information."

It took a few seconds for ever her friends to translate 'Buffy-speak' into English, but most figured out what she meant fairly quickly. For a variety of reasons, Dawn was quickest of all. "When do you expect the First to actually _start_ using the information against us?"

Buffy could only shrug. "Probably soon after the Activation Spell is terminated. Once the slayers are deactivated, the First is in its strongest position relative to us. It will know that too. We need to be in _exactly _the right position to exploit the SGC's firepower advantages. Our ace in the hole is that the First doesn't know what toys the SGC is bringing to the party."

Dawn had been fighting the First a long time, and was too aware of its power to be comfortable with that particular 'ace.' Not to mention that Buffy wasn't the only one who had considered the possibility of infiltrators within the Ronin. "Even if it doesn't have any spies, the First will likely have been able to read enough of the girls to know that we have 'alternate reality' allies. If one of them _is_ an actual spy and _is_ deliberately letting it read her mind, then it _knows_ what the SGC is and what they have. The First is pan-dimensional. It will be able to search other universes for them and see _exactly_ what they might provide us in terms of weaponry. It's also _smart_. If it knows about them, it will come up with a way to counter them."

Even before she finished Buffy was shaking her head. "No, Dawnie, you still don't get it! The First _doesn't care_how much damage we do to its followers, or its property, or its stuff. It will sacrifice them _all_ if that will distract us from its own attempt to open the portal. What we have to do is take advantage of that willingness while we still can, because everything comes to a head when the slayers are deactivated. That is the point where it _must_ gain possession of the Key. Activating the portal is useless _unless it has the Key_! Which, I should point out, leads us to the downside of the equation. It _won't_ do any of the things we need it to do _unless_ we accept the risk that it might get hold of the Key. We're walking a real fine line here. But so is the First. It will all come down to a very, _very_ narrow window where we can act before it can respond, or vice versa. I wouldn't risk this if I wasn't pretty sure we'll spot that window before it does.

"The First will have its monsters opposing us… but the SGC has plenty of experience fighting _aliens_, so won't be caught by surprise by what they will face. The First knows Illyria is on our side, but I'm hoping it _doesn't_ know that we have a home-made Mutari Generator which can reactivate her powers. Illyria was one of the most powerful of the Old Ones. In her time she was far more powerful than any contemporary Ascended being, including the Powers That Be. We need to use our Mutari Generator to reverse what Angel did at exactly the right time, because we'll only have a few seconds before she blows. I'm not sure what will happen when the containment suit fails –nobody else has had a good vision of it either so I doubt if even the First knows—but since the First knows what will happen if it _does_ fail it will _have no choice_ but to defend itself against Illyria.

"If Illyria wins, everything is fine. Even if Illyria loses we still 'win' if the First cannot prevent the containment suit from failing. The explosion will probably kill us all, which I'm not exactly thrilled about. Even worse is the sneaking suspicion that the First has already thought of this. As you said, the Portal Facility is a _fortress_. It is _possible_ that anyone inside could withstand even an explosion as powerful as the one Illyria will set off if it blows while she's still outside. In other words, we can't be sure that we can stop this even by nuking the site ourselves."

Looking directly at O'Neill, Buffy fell silent. She wasn't sure if the President had provided him with a nuclear device of some kind, or if he was willing to use one to prevent the confrontation when it would mean killing everyone involved, but she wanted him to know that the First was prepared for just such a possibility. Sighing and rolling his eyes, he finally shook his head. He had no intentions of committing suicide, but message received.

Dawn missed the momentary silent confrontation as she was looking over towards Illyria, who was glaring at them all, but somehow managing to refrain from comment. She hadn't said a single word to Buffy since her arrival. Dawn would have loved to know what she was thinking, but Illyria wouldn't say, and her inhumanly blue eyes conveyed little except angry distain. "The First knows Illyria is here. Even though it keeps the real Mutari Generator under lock and key, it will have considered the possibility that we could reverse what was done to her. It will have taken precautions to negate Illyria's powers. But the Plan depends on Illyria being able to _use_ those powers."

Nodding, Buffy acknowledge the point. "Again, it all comes down to timing. If it comes down to that, we just have to choose the proper time and place for the containment suit to fail."

Finally unable to hold her silence, Illyria sneered at Buffy. "Your pathetic tools are no more capable of breaching My containment than a dull copper knife can penetrate a steel vault! Do not mistake My alliance with your cause as capitulation to your pathetic attempts at dominance, you protoplasmic flotsam! I will do what is necessary to ensure the defeat of the First; but it will be for _My own_ reasons, on _My own_ terms, and at _My own_ convenience!"

To Dawn's surprise Buffy just smiled at the blue-tinged girl, who was meeting her look with one little short of hatred. "It _talks_! I'm_really_ pissing you off, aren't I Illyria? And I know _why_ too. Should I tell everyone else? Or is that something you don't want known?"

Everyone turned speculative eyes to the former god-king, who suddenly appeared slightly less confident at Buffy's words. And progressively less confident as the Slayer continued. "I'm pretty sure the Scythe will cut through the suit. It'll cut through damned near anything else. If not, then Thor's Hammer certainly will be able to crack it open. I doubt if your skin is _that_ much tougher than the Rock Beast's. Either way, you'll do what needs to be done. I _know_ you will! You _already have_! It's written in the stars, Illyria."

When she smiled, the sneer was gone from the demon-god's face, her expression troubled, almost frightened. Turning to face Dawn, Buffy explained. "Illyria and her compatriots have a real problem with psychic visions. They are too accurate, and don't make sense from a scientific standpoint. No Old One, and none of the Ascended races, gets anything like Slayer Dreams or my visions. They can understand the basis of most psychic phenomena, but can't explain a 'vision' so accurate, and it bugs the hell out of them. It brings into question the whole 'predestination' versus 'free will' thing. Makes them wonder what _else_ might be out there they can't explain. They consider themselves 'gods,' and don't like to think there might be something out there more powerful than they are, or so far beyond their comprehension they can't figure it out. Either way, it would mean there is a possibility that something looks down on _them_ like they're the 'slime.' Not something a 'god' likes to think about." From the sour expression on Illyria's face, her assessment was correct.

There was a bit of a pause before Xander finished his own beer, sighed, and spoke up. "So what happens if it doesn't go according to plan? If the First contains Illyria, and captures the Key? What do we do then?"

"Pray?" Jackson's suggestion was the obvious one, but not of much help.

Buffy knew where he was going, and both her eyes and voice were hard when she responded. "In that case we quit messing around and do what we should have done in the first place. We go with Plan C. We kill the bitch."

There were a few raised eyebrows around the small gathering. Before anyone else could speak, Faith made what most of them felt was the obvious comment. "I _like_ this 'Plan C'! Why screw around with the rest of this crap? Let's just go with that one."

Shaking her head, Buffy glanced around the room, meeting the eyes of everyone, the people she felt closest to and trusted the most in the entire universe. The ones she needed most to make her plan work. The ones she was prepared to betray if that was necessary to _make_ it work. "We can't. Not unless we have to. The downside of Plan C is that it is for all the marbles. There are no fall-back options, no contingency plans. It either works or it doesn't. And if it _doesn't_, the First destroys the universe and everyone in it. I promised I'd give Plan B a chance. It's worth a shot. But if it _doesn't _work, then we get nasty, and hope like hell we don't screw up."

There was dead silence. Most soldiers detested 'all-or-nothing' options. There were _extremely_ rare occasions when they were necessary, but mostly they were simply the military equivalent of 'death-by-cop.' Suicide in a more sociologically-palatable wrapper. Looking a bit nervous, Dawn turned to face Carter. "What happens if the First wins?"

Sam had spent considerable time trying to predict precisely that. The problem was that more often than not she got to thinking about the Key, which inevitably meant she would forget everything she was doing during that entire session. Over time she had developed techniques to ensure that her mind did not wander too far from the specific problem she was investigating, and kept exhaustively detailed notes. But to a scientist like Carter it was extremely difficult to reign in her curiosity, and she couldn't help but wonder about how much she was missing because thinking about it was 'off limits.' "The universe will revert to its Inflationary state. You have probably heard the theory so I won't go into detail, but just as background, when the Big Bang happened, there was nothing. No space or time. The Big Bang _created_ space and time, along with everything else. We can actually see something similar happen in high-energy physics labs. Virtual particles pop into existence, and spontaneously decay a fraction of a microsecond later. The Big Bang was something similar, only on a vastly grander scale. The reaction spontaneously cascaded, creating something out of nothing, simply because it was mathematically_possible_, so had to happen eventually.

"A tiny fraction of a second after the reaction started there was a 'phase shift' we call Inflation. Any phase shift –such as ice melting—liberates latent energy. There is an energy contained within otherwise empty space known as 'false vacuum.' During Inflation that 'false vacuum' collapsed from a higher-energy state to a lower-energy state, flooding the early universe with unimaginably vast amounts of pure energy. We can still gain access to it using what we call a ZPM. The Zero Point Module is the most powerful energy source known to our science… and it exploits the residual false vacuum energy left over after Inflation ended. The key here –you will note my choice of words—the key here is that Inflation _stopped_ before _all_ of the false vacuum energy was released.

"We aren't sure what _started_ Inflation, although there are theories that once the universe reached a certain size and the temperature fell below a critical threshold the false vacuum state simply destabilized. We had assumed that it_ended_ once all of the energy had been released, and for a time we considered ourselves lucky because if it had gone on much longer, 'dark energy' would have dominated the universe and we wouldn't be here because that sort of universe is not compatible with life as we know it. The ZPM demonstrates there are still titanic reserves left within the false vacuum.

"_Something else_ stopped it. Three guesses as to what.

"The Asgard were wrong. The Key didn't _start_ Inflation. It _ended_ it!"

She paused, looking around the room to see if everyone was following her. "In a way this is good news, because, for all its energy, Inflation happened _after_ the period where most of our theories break down, so we actually have a fairly good idea of the processes occurring then. Had it been earlier, when all the natural forces were unified, we'd be dealing with higher order dimensions, string theory, and supersymmetric processes. Everything pretty much stabilized after Inflation. Before Inflation, time could go backwards or forwards with equal validity. There were eight or ten dimensions, all of which were accessible and equally valid. During Inflation most of those extra dimension remained 'compact,' confined to almost infinitesimally small scales, while the three dimensions we have now scaled linearly. This was critical, because the mathematics for physical laws in higher-order dimensions are not stable over the long-term. Planetary orbits in a four-dimensional universe are unstable. Gravity doesn't scale over long distances when you reach even higher order dimensions. For life to evolve, you need to have _three_ –and _only_ three-- macroscopic dimensions.

"You will note the number of factors which have to be 'just right' for us to have a universe compatible with life. This is encapsulated in something known as the 'anthropic principle' which has been a hot topic in physics and philosophy for years. It's a perfectly good theory, which states that a lot of the fundamental parameters of the universe seem to be specifically 'tuned' to allow life to evolve. Many of those fundamental parameters _can_ have significantly different values than they actually _do _have, and almost any other value would lead to a universe where life could _not_ evolve. The implications are that there is a 'guiding hand,' and the theory unfortunately got mixed up in the 'Intelligent Design' mess. An extension of the theory assumes that there are essentially an infinite number of universes, and we just happen to inhabit the one where the numbers worked out in such a way that it permits us to exist. Not surprisingly, it is unofficially referred to as the 'Goldilocks Theory.' The acrimony over the issue got so bad someone extended the theory into the Completely Ridiculous Anthropic Principle, better known by the acronym CRAP.

"You can see why the Key has become so important to the religious community, however. Since the Key _deliberately_ locked in some of those fundamental parameters, its very existence can be construed as direct evidence of 'Intelligent Design.' Personally I think it more likely that the Key was created by these Elder Gods, perhaps as a weapon against the First, but I must acknowledge that the mere existence of the Key indicates that the universe _we currently inhabit_ was designed with deliberate intent. It's up to you if you wish to construe the First and its brethren as the biblical 'God,' however.

"Personally, I do not."

Holding up his hand for attention, O'Neill interrupted. "This isn't really the time for a theological debate, Carter. What happens if the First gets hold of the Key?"

Nodding to acknowledge that she understood she had been heading off-topic, Sam collected her thoughts and continued. "From what we understand based on the Mutari plans, the First is opening a portal to, well, literally 'nowhere.' It is beyond space and time as we understand it. There are no dimensions as we understand them, and time does not pass as we understand it. It might be somewhat analogous to what existed before the Big Bang, but that isn't really true either. Regardless, it encompasses everything we understand as being 'our universe,' but it is not a _part_ of that universe. What makes it so important to the First is that all isolated bubble universes, all alternate dimensions, all space and time are accessible from it. Don't ask me how it can do this. The power it would take to open such a portal is astronomical. We're talking 'ninth chevron' level power here.

"The Key provides dimensional stability. Essentially there is an unstable parameter to the equations of the universe which the Key _actively_ suppresses. If the First can introduce a segment of the Key into the not-space within the portal, that segment will introduce a conflict with the Key's own suppression algorithm. If the segment were released in any normal universe it would quickly be over-ridden by the Key's governing equations. But space and time are so different within the space this portal reaches that those equations do not follow rational mathematical laws. The segment will cascade, quickly breaching dimensional barriers, and entire universes will collapse. The most likely scenario is that the remaining false vacuum will spontaneously decay to its ground state, instantaneously liberating all of the remaining energy. So much energy will be released that it will flash-fry even the stars into pure plasma. And it will happen everywhere, pretty much instantaneously. The wave propagates at the_square_ of the speed of light. It will reach the edge of the observable universe faster than you can blink.

"What happens after that is problematical. It depends on how much energy still remains within the false vacuum. I doubt if there is enough for the First to achieve its objective of destabilizing the arrow of time and returning the universe to a pre-Inflationary state, however. The universe will expand by a vast amount –perhaps by as much as twenty orders of magnitude—but the energy will soon dissipate. The energy density decreases as the universe expands: when linear dimensions are doubled, the energy density falls by a factor of _sixteen_. There just isn't _enough_ energy left in the false vacuum to do what it intends. Time will _not_ stop. The First will be left alone in a gigantic, _empty_ universe. We call that a de Sitter universe and it doesn't seem particularly inviting. " She shrugged. "The First might think differently, however. There are solutions to the de Sitter equations where new energy is spontaneously introduced as new space is created due to expansion, a sort of never-ending Big Bang. I don't think those models are particularly realistic, but the First may have its own ideas."

Dawn was practically shivering, arms crossed, hands grasping the opposite arm defensively. "Is… is there anything that could be done to stop that?"

After a brief, unpleasant snort, Carter stated the obvious. "Not letting the First get hold of the Key would be a good start!" Then, after considering the math a bit more, she spoke again when no one else interjected, all too busy considering the picture she had presented of the consequences of failure. "We are at the limits of what present theory can describe. And I can't even be certain our theories are correct! The Ancient Greeks believed the universe was created from just four elements; earth, air, fire and water. Later philosophers would reduce those to just two: matter, which has mass and is made of particles, and energy, which has no mass and is made of waves.

"Over time, the 'matter' part of the list was divided into the 92 naturally-occurring elements. That seemed like an awful lot, so they looked for an underlying order, which was found at the turn of the Twentieth century. All the elements were made up of atoms, which were combinations of protons and neutrons, and matter was just another form of energy. Everything was simple again. Unfortunately, a veritable zoo of subatomic particles was subsequently discovered, until once again scientists found an underlying order. Today we would once again say that the universe is made up of only two things, but now we say there are _fermions_, which are wave/particles which have half-integer spin –subatomic particles are made of fermions—and _bosons_, which are wave/particles which have integer spins. Bosons are the things that carry forces between particles.

"Unfortunately it turns out that things are actually more complicated. All the familiar, standard fermions have nonzero rest mass. The only boson most people are familiar with --the photon—_does_ have zero rest mass. However, there are bosons which have _non_-zero rest mass –for instance, gluons-- and it's also possible there are fermions which have _zero_ rest mass.

"When things get that complicated it's usually a sign that your models have reached their limits, and you need a better theory. Which is why we're working on string theory, M-theory, Quantum Loop Gravity, and a bunch of other 'Theories of Everything' which should tie it all together once we figure out the details. Interestingly, QLG explicitly _requires_ that the universe oscillates, and our universe was created from the collapse of a previous one, which had completely different natural laws. Perhaps these 'Elder Gods' came from _that_ universe, surviving its end –don't ask me how-- but couldn't adapt to the new laws in this one. The Asgard don't think so, but they have always had problems with 'divide by zero' solutions. Maybe everything really is made up of tiny strings vibrating in eight dimensions. Maybe not. But that doesn't mean the scenario I just presented is _wrong_, just that it might not be _completely_ right. So even though I just said the First can't do what it intends to do, it might have a better understanding of the laws of physics than I do, in which case we are in real trouble.

"One thing we should all keep in mind is that in its natural form the First is a _god_. Not just an _ascended being_; but a _god_. Ascended races have to follow a lot of rules; gods _don't. _Most importantly: it is _immune to paradox_. It can go back in time and not be affected by any paradox it introduces. It cannot go forward in time once it has introduced that paradox, since that timeline won't exist anymore… _unless another god is actively working to repair that paradox_. So if it can go forward at all, it knows another god is actively working against it. Even though the paradox would exist, the timeline would remain in a meta-stable state until an actual outcome was determined by the opposing parties. It is analogous to the famous quantum probability experiment; call it Schrödinger's Universe."

Buffy interrupted, looking confused. "It's going to play a toy piano?"

Suppressing a sigh, Carter glanced over at her. "That's 'Schroeder.' From the 'Peanuts' comic strip. I'm talking about a theoretical physicist who thought up a famous experiment involving a cat…"

With a sulky pout too prominent to be real, Buffy interrupted. "I _have_ heard of it. My version is better. Discordant notes in a song, creating something new. Not 'either/or,' but an entire range of new possibilities. That's why slayer visions keep changing every time someone does something. Each change doesn't have to be life or death; some just introduce a new possibility." Buffy was proud of her argument, and how it implied she actually understood what Sam had been saying. It sounded much better than her first thought, which had been 'Fire burn; tree pretty.'

It was a far more intelligent comment than Sam had expected, and she blinked in surprise before responding. "Large-scale effects from the collapse of a wave of quantum probability are usually binary: yes/no, live/die."

Buffy was really proud of herself for understanding what Sam was suggesting, and being able to argue against it. "A _cat_ living or dying isn't a 'quantum effect.' Neither is the universe. Look, Sam, I'm no physicist…" she glared at Xander as he mumbled something teasingly insulting which she tried to pretend she didn't hear "…but my visions give me a pretty good idea of the effect even a small change can produce. There is a whole range of possibilities, not just _one_ possible outcome."

"Not in this case." Psychic or not, Carter wasn't backing down in _her_ field of expertise. "There are only two possible outcomes: the First succeeds, or it fails. You yourself said the Ascended races are working to ensure that each side has a 50/50 chance of winning. To me, that implies one side or the other _will _win. No half measures. _You're_ the one with the visions. Tell us if you can see _any_ sort of outcome which falls somewhere between the extremes."

There was an uncomfortable silence until Buffy sighed. "Neither I, nor any of the other slayers, have had a single accurate prophetic dream which extends beyond tomorrow night." That was technically true, but wasn't _entirely_ accurate. Buffy silently reminded herself that she had once dreamed about the far future, and the slayer named Melaka Fray. But that dream had been like no other she'd ever experienced. Instead of a live drama, it had been flat, static, almost cartoonish, relying more on her own imagination to fill in the blanks, rather than a normal vision where it often seemed as if she was participating in a play. What that meant she did not know. Obviously it was not a guaranteed future. It was a _possible_ future, however, should they succeed in stopping the First. Normally a vision showed something which _would_ happen, unless something actively prevented it from coming to pass. There was no implied promise that they would be able to bring her vision of Fray's possible future to life.

More than one person swallowed on a suddenly dry throat as they contemplated the consequences of failure, until Sam continued. "That's not as horrible as it sounds. The First and the Key are _both_ effectively gods. _Both _are immune to paradox. They will oppose one another, but the outcome still hasn't been determined. All it means is that the psychics are in the same position the rest of us have been all along: the future hasn't been written yet. It won't be written until one or the other of the opposing god-like beings actually _wins_, and the meta-stable universe collapses into its new reality."

It was O'Neill's turn to introduce a snarky comment. "A pretty good sign that we don't succeed in stopping the First the way we've planned, though."

There were nods all round. Nobody commented, however, because nobody was really surprised. They all knew Buffy, and had all privately suspected she wasn't going to go for any band-aid solution. All suspected that one way or another, the matter would be _resolved_ the next night. And with that thought, most of them decided it was time for bed. When everyone finished their drinks and said their goodnights, Dawn came up to her sister to have a private conversation. "There _is_ another option, you know." When Buffy merely looked at her questioningly, Dawn explained. "If _you_ kill me, the Ascended races won't retaliate against Earth."

Buffy was already shaking her head. "_Not_ going to happen, Dawn! No way, no how. Even if I considered doing that –and god forgive me, I actually _did_—I also had a dream about the results. All those nukes the First conned out of the government? They're programmed to go off if _you_ die. Not if _it_ dies; if _you_ die. Naturally they are pre-positioned in major cities around the world, with the excuse that they needed to be spread out all over just so that one would be nearby in case someone opened a portal and they needed to shut it down. If you die, _billions_ will die, and _nothing_ will be achieved for their sacrifice. In a way I'm grateful, because it justifies the decision I already made. I will let them _try_ their idiotic plan, but I'm not going to go out of my way to ensure that it succeeds. I have had it with this bitch! We go all the way. Win or lose, we fight this to the bitter end. I am _not_ going to kill you. I'm not going to let anyone _else_ kill you either. Unfortunately, that pretty much means you will have to fight the First, all by yourself."

Her now-older 'younger' sister had already reached a similar conclusion. Which partly explained her offer to let Buffy kill her. 'Fighting the First' was _not_ something Dawn wanted to do. "I _can't_ fight it, Buffy! I'm no _god_! Hell, I'm not even a _slayer_! I can _organize_, I can send _others_ to fight; but I can't do it _myself. I don't know how_!"

Once a big sister, always a big sister. Even though Dawn was now four years older than her, and nearly seven inches taller, she still 'looked up' to her big sister. Despite years on her own, now that her big sis had returned, she somehow felt like a little girl again. Buffy reached up and gently stroked her shoulder-length hair. "I'll tell you if you insist, but what I'm trying to make happen is something you_don't want to know_. It probably won't even work if you _did_ know. But if you think you _need_ to know, I _will_ tell you. You have more than earned it. But I've learned the hard way that some things should remain secret. I _never_ should have told the Scoobies that you were the Key. Xander made it seem like if I didn't tell them it was because I didn't trust them, when they really should have trusted _me_. Telling them only put you _and them_ in more danger, without telling them anything they _needed_ to know. So I'm asking you to trust me on this. You need to react naturally. But I promise you, when the time comes, you _will_ know what to do."

She smiled up at her frightened 'little' sister. "You might not be a _god_, but you _are_ the Key. The only reason you're _not_ a slayer is _because_ you are the Key. The slayer _tried_ to join with you, but the Key doesn't share. The slayer essence moved on to the next Potential when the Key kicked it out. You're probably immune to werewolf and vampire bites as well. They can _kill_ you, but they can't take you over. You are the human avatar of the Key, and when the time comes, the _Key_ will know what to do. _You'll_ know what to do. Everything you've learned, everything you've done has led up to this. _You can do this_!"

Looking a bit less frightened, but almost pleading, Dawn looked down at the sister she had always idolized, stunned to note that she was now so small compared to the 'larger than life' super-hero she remembered. And momentarily wondered how she could be so calm and confident in leading the Ronin, but instantly transform into a scared little girl the minute her big sister was once again around to make everything alright again. "A least give me a _hint. Please_?!"

Buffy just smiled gently. "Listen to the music, Dawn." At her sisters' look of confusion, Buffy shrugged. "That's all I can say. But I promise, you _will_ know what to do when the time comes. If I could, I'd do it for you. I can't, not this time. I could last time because you were so new that we still shared a lot of the genetic markers the Key uses to remain attached to you. I talked to the Asgard about this, and according to them, you were made using my genes as a template, but over time _all_ of those original cells have been replaced. Back then a tiny part of the Key was attached to_me_ because of that shared genetic history, which was why I was able to close Glory's portal. That's no longer true. You've grown up, Dawnie. You're your own person now, with your own special talents and abilities. I haven't said this enough, but I really_like_ the person you've grown up to become. I know you're scared, but you can do this. You've _got_ to do this. Because no one else can. _No one_! It's all up to _you_ now."

There was really no more to be said, which was fortunate, because when she looked away from her sisters frightened face, she saw Spike, standing alone in a corner, watching her. Unwilling to approach her, just in case he wasn't welcome. Knowing she would be able to sense his presence, even if only a few of the newbies could. Paying them not the slightest attention. His eyes were locked solely on The Slayer. They were slumberous, defiantly blatant in their open desire. Even before she looked up to meet those eyes, Buffy could _feel_ them, feel her reaction to them. Yes, their relationship had been twisted… but it had also been _hot_! Buffy acknowledged that Spike hadn't been the one who made it twisted. He had simply been more than willing to indulge her in any deviant behavior she could imagine. And willing to suggest more than a few she couldn't.

Now that her head wasn't so messed up Buffy felt that her tastes were no longer quite so extreme, but she didn't doubt for a second that he would be more than willing to follow whatever lead she might suggest. His eyes were simply making it blatantly clear which choice he would prefer that she make. Buffy discovered that once captured by those eyes, she was as trapped as someone else would be looking into Dracula's hypnotic gaze. Not due to any special power, save the intensity of his unconcealed lust. No, 'lust' wasn't fair. Granted it was a major component of what she was seeing, but not the _only_ thing she could see in his eyes. Adoration. Unmitigated joy. Desperate relief. Genuine happiness. Maybe even, perhaps, _love_. But Spike was the single most sensual man Buffy had ever known, and there was no concealing the overwhelming lust in his eyes. Despite feeling that she should be embarrassed by it, Buffy couldn't help but respond to it. Because at that moment she wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything in her entire life. Tomorrow they would go to war, and they would either win, or they would lose. Even if they won, she was going to die sooner rather than later. There didn't seem to be a lot of reasons not to indulge in something which reminded her why life was so precious, and so much worth living.

Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Faith, watching them, observing their silent communication. She didn't look bitter, or jealous, but seemed almost wistful. For a few seconds she thought it over, before cocking her head and raising at eyebrow at Spike. For a fraction of a second he looked confused, then, seeing Faith, he seemed surprised, but his sensual smile indicated that he was more than willing if she was. Buffy turned towards Faith, and smiled. The momentary confusion visible in her expression delighted her, almost as much as the visible excitement on her face as comprehension dawned.

She didn't have much time left. So why the hell not?

----

O'Neill saw the three of them leave and tried to hide his discomfort. Unsuccessfully, if the smirk on Lt. Colonel Riley Finn's face was any hint. Forrest had naturally sought to discover how his counterpart had died on this world, leading to his discovery by his counterparts' team. That team was a special 'monster-hunting' outfit out of the Pentagon, all of them fully human. They had volunteered to help Forrest while he was the only SGC operative on the planet, and the rest of Buffy's team once they arrived. Their local knowledge had proven invaluable… as had Finn's expertise. His younger counterpart hadn't overly impressed O'Neill back at the SGC, but if this man was any indication, there was far more to Riley Finn than met the eye. Soon after meeting him Jack had made some sarcastic comment, the kind that would have had his counterpart blushing with embarrassment. Not this man. Riley had just looked at him, face expressionless, the military equivalent of 'You want a piece of me, _biatch_? Come get some." Point having been made without a single word being spoken, from that moment on he had been treated like the pro he was on this world, not the rookie his counterpart still was on theirs.

His wife was equally impressive. Ten hard years had robbed her of some of what had likely once been considerable beauty, but there was no questioning her talent. She had also noticed what was happening, being very careful to never let Buffy stray too long from her sight. Telling herself she wasn't jealous of the still-young, still-beautiful Slayer was a lie even she couldn't swallow. "You'd better get used to it if you expect to work with slayers, Colonel. They are _very_ sensual beings." She smirked at the 'other' Sam. "Best thing that ever happened to our marriage was Riley walking in on her and Spike in bed. After an experience like that, even _he_ finally figured out it was really over between them."

O'Neill very carefully did not say what Faith had told him about Buffy's relationship with Riley Finn. She obviously hadn't exactly been an unbiased observer. Concerned that something might be visible on his hopefully-blank expression, he was relieved when everyone turned aside when they heard a small disturbance, diverting their attention. The top Ronin field commander, an extraordinarily unattractive girl named Grace, had gotten up, a grimly determined expression on her face, walked over to the only other guy in the entire organization –an extraordinarily retarded idiot named Andrew—grabbed him by the shirt, picked him up with one hand, and tossed him over her shoulder. Half the girls in the hall cheered, despite the look of unabashed terror on Andrew's face as he was unceremoniously hauled from the room. Returning to the subject at hand, Carter picked up the conversation. "I'm just surprised she is so… uh… _open_ about it. She has always been extremely circumspect about her personal life. We only found out about her relationship with Faith's counterpart because of their argument when we were here last time."

Once again, O'Neill kept his silence, leaving it to the two women to take their own meaning from their incomplete understanding of what had really occurred. "It's pretty obvious your world is a lot more… uh… 'traditional' in its outlook than this one. A relationship like mine and Riley's would never be permitted within your military." Her eyes flicked between Carter and O'Neill, but she made no other comment on whatever she saw. "With a big fight on the menu for tomorrow, a lot of the girls here will be pairing up. Most of your soldiers are about to get _very_ lucky tonight, Colonel! My advice would be not to interfere."

O'Neill was a bit nervous about that. "They're _kids_! Some of them are still in their teens! We're running real close to statutory rape, here!"

Sam Finn glared at him. "No we are_not. All_ of them are of age. More importantly, they're old enough to fight. Tomorrow, a lot of them are going to be old enough to _die_! Tonight, I think that makes them old enough to_live_."

Not happy about it, but knowing this wasn't the time to argue, or really a fight he wanted to get into, O'Neill simply nodded.

His acceptance pleased the younger woman, whom O'Neill still had a hard time calling 'Major.' "Having Buffy go with those two will save us a lot of hassle as well. She's kind of a legend around here. There could have been real problems had she picked anyone else."

Carter raised her eyes in surprise. "I was under the impression that she wasn't really trusted, that she'd failed them before and they held some grudge against her due to the First taking her form."

Snorting in disbelief at their misunderstanding, Sam Finn waved around the room, where people were slowly disappearing in small groups, some of them joined by one of the soldiers from the SGC, many not, the girls' content with whatever relationships they had already evolved. "You said it yourself, Major: the First is a _god_. They all know what we're facing. There's really no shame in losing to a god. Even _Dawn_ didn't really try to 'fight' the First, only tried to check some of its worst excesses, and Dawn is pretty damned good at this. The chances of actually _beating_ a god are so remote that had it been anyone but The Legendary Buffy Summers Herself suggesting we even _try_, nobody here would be willing to even make the attempt."

The sarcasm in her tone when giving Buffy her title was apparent. But there was no hint of that sarcasm in her follow up statement. "That goes for my unit too, by the way. If she wasn't here, _we_ wouldn't be here. She might be a flake and certifiably crazy, but there's nobody better when it comes to taking down the Big Bads."

Staring at the others with hard eyes, she continued. "According to the Watchers, Buffy has been responsible for stopping four of the ten most serious paranormal threats this planet has faced in the past _thousand_ years. There's some debate as to whether one or two others she's beaten should be listed on the Top Ten as well. She's _that_ good. Everyone here knows it. If you have orders countermanding her instructions, I would very strongly suggest you reconsider. No matter how annoying she is, she's also the best chance we've got. And not to be threatening or anything, but my unit would take it pretty much as an _act of war_ if you did anything to stop her from accomplishing her mission."

O'Neill was getting a bit irritated that everyone and their dog seemed to think he had secret orders to stop her. He wanted to indignantly state that they weren't_secret_. Not any more, at least: Buffy knew all about them. "Considering your personal opinion of her, I'm surprised to hear you say that."

She was taller than Carter, looked to be stronger too. Meeting his eyes without flinching, Sam Finn didn't think she was likely spilling any secrets when she stated the obvious. "This is my husband's ex-girlfriend we're talking about, Colonel. Here she is, almost ten years after she _died_, still tiny and beautiful and young and oh-did-I-mention 'returned from the _dead_?!' _Of course_ I'm going to be jealous as hell! Who _wouldn't_ be!? But I'm also a _soldier_, and a damned good one. We've all got a job to do and she's the best chance we have of carrying it out successfully. When it's over_you_ will probably have a world to go back to. I would very much appreciate it if _we_ had one as well. We have pictures of Glory's portal. Dragons and golems and monsters you cannot even imagine came out of it. The First is far, _far_ more powerful than even Glory. We can _not_ afford to lose this one."

Not breaking eye contact, O'Neill pushed a little. "I would think that you would have more incentive than anyone to want her to fail."

Snorting in contempt, Finn shrugged. "I started training for the Olympics when I was five years old. Pentathlon. I graduated college with a 4.0 average, on an athletic scholarship, while also working part time. Black belt in tai kwon do at sixteen. Sniper rating. Graduated the Special Forces Training School at Fort Benning. The only female in the class, I should note. Not a fun experience. I worked my ass off… and yet I'm physically out-classed by every one of these girls because they were randomly 'Chosen' in a mystical lottery. But that's okay, because most of them are _idiots_! Oh, Grace and China are both pretty sharp, a few others too, and now that she's letting Dawn do the thinking for her Faith is downright scary. She really puts the 'rage' in 'courage!' But that's about it in terms of leadership potential among them. Strong as King Kong, but not much more in the way of brains.

"On the surface, Buffy might seem like the worst of the lot. Ditzy blonde Valley girl obsessed with fashion. But underneath, _damn_, it's a different story! That girl is_special_. Even _I_ know it! The Hellmouth was _by far_ the most dangerous place on earth, supernaturally speaking. Our team is the best in the world, but we didn't go near it. Instead we left it to a screwed up kid who had to work at a fucking fast-food joint to make enough money to put food on her table. Everyone here knows what she's gone through. What she accomplished despite that. They_won't_ let her down. _We_ have all got our priorities straight here, Colonel."

Carter understood what the other woman was saying, and smiled slightly, a bit abashed. "I received my PhD in physics from Caltech when I was nineteen. Joined the Air Force. Got a second PhD in digital systems design in my spare time from the Academy. Shot down a Mig in the first Gulf War. Was accepted for astronaut training by NASA, but turned it down when something more interesting came up. Led the team that did most of the reverse-engineering on the DHD. I have _four_ Presidential commendations. When the secret of the StarGate came out, the newspapers kept saying 'Sam Carter' was a 'he.'" She sighed. "There was an alien invasion attempt. The President was there, and the whole thing was broadcast live on television around the world. Buffy showed up at the last minute, fought a ten-foot-tall monster to the death. Was practically disemboweled in the process. Tore his head off with her bare hands. Stopped the invasion cold. I try not to be jealous, because I know the price she's paid, but sometimes…"

The two women shared a look, both smiling without amusement, both shaking their heads. "I hear you. That's our Buffy." Finn looked over at her husband, who wisely remained silent. "C'mon, Soldier Boy. The kiddies are starting to look your way, and that is _soooooo_ not happening. I know, I know; another fantasy down the tubes. Deal with it."

The other men involved in the discussion grinned at each other, silently communicating their awareness of who wore the pants in _that_ relationship. Those grins disappeared quickly when they saw Riley staring back at them, a bit of a smirk on his normally-cheerful face. The meaning behind his expression was even clearer than theirs: 'I'm getting more and better than anyone here, I'm _happier _than anyone here, and you idiots are laughing at _me_?!' His wife knew what was happening, sighed, and reached over to haul him away before it went any further, muttering almost under her breath. "Fucking testosterone…"

When she dragged him away by his tie, it was like a signal, as the others soon followed, until only O'Neill and Carter remained. They cleaned up some of the mess, being very careful to confine their conversation to generic topics.

Eventually, the went to bed… in separate beds. In separate rooms. Neither slept for a long time. Both knowing that the other would not be sleeping, for the same reason the other couldn't. Neither knowing what the hell to do about it.


	23. Chapter 22

Chapter 22 

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

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**Return To Normal**

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**Chapter Twenty Two**

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Colonel Ash Fenton sat near the still-unresponsive Quantum Mirror and scowled. Since that was pretty much his normal expression nobody mentioned it, but he wasn't scowling for any of the usual reasons this time. Normally, he scowled because he and his team were preparing to risk their lives to rescue some scientist who had invariably done something incredibly stupid and had to be bailed out of whatever mess their idiocy had caused. On this particular occasion he was scowling at the 'Colonel' title before his name. Until two days before it had been 'lieutenant colonel' and that was exactly the way he wanted it to stay. Damned few lieutenant colonels led Away Teams in the SGC, and only one full colonel. Unlike O'Neill, he didn't have the Asgard 'suggesting' to the people in charge that he retain a field command. Fenton's fancy new 'bird' meant he was likely to be transferred out of the SGC and given his own battalion, probably in Iraq, as soon as the ink was dry. After all the amazing shit he had been doing for the past eighteen months at the SGC, it would be roughly like trading in a Ferrari for a five ton diesel truck.

It really irritated him that the promotion hadn't been given solely because he'd earned it—he knew damned well he'd earned it—but had also been meant as a bribe to get him to do what Kinsey wanted him to do. Kinsey had 'heard' that he was unhappy rescuing stupid scientists, had 'heard' that he was unhappy with the way his unit was being treated, had 'heard' that he was bitter about O'Neill getting all the glory while his people shed all the blood. He hadn't said anything to Kinsey's rep, just nodded and listened, but inside he was seething. _Of course_ he was pissed off with the scientists: they were fucking _idiots_! But he was pissed off about the weather in Antarctica too and was just as unlikely to change it. Some things simply _were_, and had to be accepted because nothing was going to change the way of the world. Outside of their specialties, the scientists were morons, true. But they were also the reason the SGC even _existed_. The military was just there to keep them out of trouble when they could, and bail them out of it on those all too frequent occasions when they couldn't. But it was the information the scientists collected which was going to save Earth from the Goa'uld, and he damned well knew it.

Understanding that fact intellectually didn't mean Fenton held any love for the idiots. He had never been able to adapt to a 'conventional' SGC team because of his unconcealed distain for the scientists. He had had the terrible misfortune of being teamed up with a geek named Rodney McKay on his first assignment offworld. It was a miracle he hadn't killed the insufferable prick the first day. Arrogant, condescending, mind-numbingly _stupid_ when it came to anything beyond the scope of his own fields of expertise, McKay had been the worst, but his successors hadn't been a whole lot better. He had been expected to guide them to whatever project they were conducting on whatever world they happened to be investigating, protect them, ensure they remembered to eat and sleep and not piss off the natives… basically act as a glorified baby-sitter. After leading a counter-insurgency team in south-western Afghanistan it was quite a come-down for a man of his talents, even if he was doing it on another friggin'_planet_.

The people in charge knew he was getting frustrated. He hadn't gone to much effort to hide it. He probably would have been quietly reassigned 'without prejudice' had not one mission gone spectacularly wrong. They were on some shit-hole planet whose name he hadn't bothered to memorize –P1C-N1K or whatever—with a friggin' botanist or entomologist or whatever-the-fuc-ologist who was practically popping a boner over some of the plants he was bagging. The climate was sub-tropical, very humid, not quite jungle but not a helluva long way from it. Fenton and his boys saw a lot of ferns and shit, some of them taller than most trees, but the geek they were escorting was looking for something smaller. Something which should not have existed on a planet at that stage of its botanical evolution. He was on the trail of something he referred to as a 'C4 variant' of rice. The guy wasn't exactly modest: he claimed it was not just the most important plant in the universe, but that finding it would probably be the single most important discovery in all of human history._Riiiight_.

Even through his excitement the geek had noticed Fenton's snort of disbelief. He had been a little guy, in lousy shape, if not actually fat, but suddenly he met then-major Fenton's eyes steadily, without his usual mousy air of disdainful intimidation. Geeks didn't get assigned to the SGC unless they were damned good at their chosen field, and this one didn't like being challenged in his area of expertise. "Two thirds of the people on our planet eat rice as their staple food product, Major. A C4 variant will grow faster, in worse climatic conditions, with higher yields than any known variety. One little plant and our planetary food stocks will increase by perhaps 20. Enough to feed about _two billion_ people. Do you think I am joking about the importance of this?" He'd waited until Fenton finally nodded before resuming his search.

That was Fenton's real problem with scientists. No matter how irritating or stupid they acted most of the time, every so often they would come up with something so fucking mind-boggling that he felt like a complete moron. The fat little gnome puttering around the make-shift lab was casually talking about feeding two_billion_ people. _Billion_… with a '_B_!' So Fenton and his team protected the gnome and his small team, annoying them with their efforts to keep them safe, getting annoyed by their insistence on blithely stepping into places where angels feared to tread in their effort to locate the plant their research indicated should be in the area. There was good reason to be concerned about security. P1C-N1K was an evolved version of Mesozoic Earth. Most of the animal life was reptilian, and many of them were right out of Dinosaur Planet.

The team was constantly chasing away small, fast, vicious, and clever little dog-sized lizards who found every possible chink in the fence, both the outer electrified barrier and inner chain-link. Everyone wore the toughest clothing they could stand, given the high temperatures and humidity, but were still constantly beating off bad-tempered, mad-dog-mean lizards with sharp teeth and surly attitudes. Few of them were more than a foot tall, two feet from snout to tail, but they had the temperament of ferrets… and tasted like crap, even smothered in barbeque sauce. Grizzly little bastards unfortunately seemed to feel that human meat tasted just fine, however.

They knew there were larger-sized relatives farther into the valley beyond the lab, which was why they didn't go into the valley. But scientists were _idiots_, and when one of them got it into his head that the miracle plant might be found deeper into the valley he snuck away, ignoring both explicit orders and common sense. Naturally, he found the goddamned plant at about the same moment Godzilla found him. Frantic radio calls ensued. Fenton shook his head when the stupid moron seemed more excited about the plant than about the fucking _Tyrannosaurus Rex_ trying to scrape him out from the rock cleft he was using as a temporary shelter. And, of course, he wanted Fenton and his troops to bail him out.

Fenton had four men with him. The T-Rex was better than thirty feet long and weighed more than five tons… all of it mean, hungry, and just generally pissed off at the world. Their MP5's, even firing on full automatic, just irritated it even more than it already was. He didn't have a rocket launcher, and nothing smaller was going to cut it. Even if the scientist was lying about finding the plant, he was still under Fenton's protection, and Fenton had absolutely no intention of telling the man's next of kin that he got eaten by a dinosaur because he, a highly trained, top-of-the-food-chain killing machine, couldn't handle one fucking lizard. He had his boys get some claymores, set up a kill zone, and got the reptile's attention with a combination of M84's and a few actual frag grenades, not to mention his own exposed ass. The damned thing had been _fast_! To his dying day, Fenton would feel the probably-illusory sensation of dinosaur breath on his neck before the M18's went off, each sending 700 steel balls into a 60-degree arc, a whole bunch of them intersecting the massive legs propelling the beast after Fenton so quickly it felt like it was about one inch behind him when the fucking bombs finally lit off.

Even with its legs shredded, the tough sonuvabitch wouldn't die. Maybe it was just too damned stupid to realize its legs were gone. A couple of M67's tossed into its mouth finally did the job. Each of the men on his team collected a few six-inch-long teeth for souvenirs. The geek hadn't been lying about finding the plant. Their discovery wasn't publicly announced, but China and India both suddenly became _very_ cooperative, and pretty much left the SGC alone afterwards. Thanks to his part in the mission, Fenton had the clout to recommend setting up a specialized team designed specifically for combat rescue, which got him promoted away from the goddamn scientists. More importantly, it let him do what he loved doing most: killing his country's enemies, and not babysitting moronic eggheads. SG-13 was an unqualified success. Fenton had been fighting tooth-and-nail to prevent himself from being promoted away from it for the past year.

Every so often, Fenton would stop by the OC at Fort Carson, where the 10th Special Forces Group was headquartered, just to meet up with friends in the secret fraternity of special operations troops. He'd order a single Moosehead in the traditional green bottle. His reason for doing so was not obvious to outsiders. It went back to Afghanistan, where, technically, the war was being run by NATO. In practice, only four NATO countries did any actual fighting. Two of them, not surprisingly, were NATO's two most militarily powerful countries: the US and the UK. The other two were a surprise, since they were both among NATO's _least_ militarily powerful countries. Both the Netherlands and Canada had been conducting combat operations just as professionally –and with the same attendant casualties—as the Big Boys. This had come as quite a surprise to American forces, who had relegated the armies of both countries to 'peacekeeping' functions. Or in Canada's case performing the vital job of acting as a buffer between the Brits and the French during multi-national exercises.

Because they were willing to actually fight, American troops had worked with the forces of those countries more often than they had in decades. Which, occasionally, became very convenient. For some un-Godly reason all American bases in Afghanistan were 'dry.' The British bases had rum, but Fenton had never wanted to find out if it was only served with any other British traditions, not being particularly fond of either sodomy or the lash. The Germans provided some brew to allied forces, but they were up north where the shooting wasn't. However, it came to pass that once, after six weeks hiking through the barren, desolate mountains of western Afghanistan in a futile search for bin Laden and his ilk, he had been transitioning through the massive base at the Kandahar Air Field where the Canadians had set up their operation. When their troops had been deployed to Afghanistan the Moosehead brewery had offered them as much beer as they wanted, free of charge, for as long as they were in-country. Soldiers were permitted one beer, if they had the following day off. Exhausted and despondent over losing a friend to a Taliban sniper, Fenton had been invited into the mess and ritually presented with the first alcoholic beverage he'd seen in months.

They had kept the beer at nearly Absolute Zero with some kind of nuclear-powered refrigerator, although somehow the golden elixir had remained liquid. The first sip had been ambrosia. The second even better. There were four big-screen TV's around the room, all showing different hockey games. One set might be reluctantly switched over to show b-ball if the Raptor's were playing. Everyone else in the room was also scarfing down donuts –the American part of the airfield had a Burger King; the Canadians had a donut shop called Tim Horton's-- nurturing their precious brews, and talking quietly amongst themselves, unless one of the NHL's finest scored, which invariably brought about loud cheers or equally emphatic groans, whereupon everyone would take another reverent sip of their single permitted beer. It was a moment of perfect clarity for Fenton, a single instant in time forever treasured as an epiphany, the minute he realized how much he enjoyed being a soldier, how little it took to make them content, and how petty were those who wrote the rules and regulations far from the battlefield without ever taking the time to understand the people they were aggravating needlessly with idiotic directives which made their job almost impossible to carry out.

When then-captain Fenton returned to the World he'd discovered that he had finally, truly understood how to lead men into battle –let them have _one fucking beer_!-- and that he didn't actually like the taste of Moosehead. But he always ordered one, before switching to Bud, just to recapture that moment of perfect understanding. He was with Air Force Special Operations, which was frequently looked down upon by SEAL's or Green Beret's who for some retarded reason considered themselves superior. Every so often, one of them would try to prove their manhood by picking a fight. Fenton never argued. He just smiled blandly and put his boots up on the table and went back to his drink, ignoring the pathetically deluded twerp trying to get a rise out of him. There would always be someone who knew, who would raise their own bottle of beer in respectful salute, and the smug asshole would slink away, confused that the toughest people in the bar would treat a friggin' AFSOC puke like he was a real badass. Fenton didn't bother to explain. When you wore cowboy boots hand-tooled from the skin of a _Tyrannosaurus_-fucking-_Rex_ you had personally killed, you didn't have to prove yourself to _no_body.

After the fiasco at the warehouse, where that Summers chick had made his people look like amateurs, Fenton had screamed long and loud. Someone apparently didn't realize that Fenton screamed long and loud when his laundry wasn't folded correctly, and misinterpreted his reaction. Using the humiliation to motivate his troops, Fenton became the worlds' leading expert in anti-slayer tactics. His people practiced as if they were up against a Slayer; testing her limits, determining her capabilities, seeking counters to her advantages. Someone had added two and two together and got five. Truth was, Fenton trained his team to take down Slayers because he trained his people to take down the very _best_ opponent they might ever face. Buffy herself had understood without him having to explain. They'd actually talked about it several times, with her coming up with counters to the tactics he was evolving to fight someone like her, and seeing how he'd had his people adjust. Only a Washington-based REMF would misinterpret it as something as idiotic as him being so upset he was preparing a vendetta against a chick just for being that damned good.

When it was obvious they couldn't stop Buffy from doing her thing against the First, Washington had ordered Fenton's team to be the primary force component backing up her plan on the alternate Earth. He had been promoted, met with Generals, promises implied of choice assignments hinted at but never actually offered. The name 'Kinsey' had been bandied about constantly, with the implication that it would be good for his career were he to be on the side of the future President… and not so good if he wasn't. All he had to do was what they assumed was already his own goal: prevent the slayer from returning to their Earth once the fight was over. Or even make his own deal with the First. Nobody bought her 'the entire universe will be destroyed' bullshit. But whatever else was going down, pretty much everyone agreed that Summers' had access to something even the fucking Asgard considered to be 'the most powerful 'thing' in the known universe,' and Kinsey wanted it, whatever 'it' turned out to be.

Fenton had surreptitiously kept Hammond apprised of everything. He despised Kinsey even more than he despised every other politician he'd ever met. He wasn't a big Buffy fan because she'd embarrassed him and Fenton didn't like to lose. Especially to a civilian. Even more especially to a girly civilian. _Most_ especially to a friggin' _ex-cheerleader_ girly civilian. But he also figured she had a real pair on her, which put her way ahead of every politician and 99 of the remainder of the human race. Conspiring to murder her just to suck up to a slimy dipshit like Kinsey was about the most offensively disgraceful action a man like Fenton could imagine. Anyone who couldn't figure that out just from Fenton's record was obviously an idiot. The last person he'd want to tie his cart to was someone surrounded by ass-kissing idiots, even had he been tempted by the bait. Which he hadn't been. A Pentagon assignment? He'd sooner lead a UN Peacekeeping force in Darfur… with Rodney McKay as his liaison.

Frickin' morons.

So he just stared blankly back at the generals observing him through the bullet-proof glass of the Control Room overlooking the Gate Room, their own eyes trying to meet his and silently 'communicate' their expectations. He tried not to let them know that the only thing he loathed more than politicians –and he loathed politicians far more than he loathed even scientists—were politicians who pretended to be soldiers. He also knew he wasn't very good at hiding his feelings, so was just as glad when the Quantum Mirror suddenly flashed to life with Sgt. Forrest glaring at Buffy on the other side, who was tinkering with the control device, somehow psychically tuning it to the correct address. Someone nearby muttered a prayer of relief. Not because they could finally get underway, but because they would now be able to recover their sole working ZPM which had been needed to power up the Mirror from the other end. Finally Forrest, silently from their perspective, indicated that the connection was stable. Fenton felt his heart rate take a sudden jump. It was showtime.

Fenton had 183 men and thirty nine women under his command for this mission. He wasn't so happy about having that many women on the team, but he was smart enough not to say that out loud. This time, at least, their expertise was required, and they weren't there just to prove how 'enlightened' the military was and get a bunch of his boys killed when they acted like idiots and tried to 'protect' the women once things hit the fan. Unlike the moronic uniform-wearing politicians, he knew that anything capable of scaring the shit out of a slayer was something he had better respect. Maybe it couldn't 'destroy the universe,' but he expected it would put up one helluva fight. It ate him up to know that some of those fine soldiers trusting in his leadership wouldn't be coming back again, destined to die in another _universe_, fighting someone else's war. But at least they wouldn't be dying to make Kinsey the fucking President.

Fenton truly believed that after he died he would have to explain himself to every single person who gave their lives under his command. He wanted to be able to meet their eyes in the Hereafter and be able to say that their sacrifice had been both justified and necessary. Having to tell one of them that they'd died so he could suck up to Kinsey wasn't going to cut it.

They had learned that by linking hands, a maximum of six people could pass through the mirror simultaneously. The cycle time to recharge the device was just over four minutes. It would be a long two hours to get his people and their equipment where they needed to be. Where a fight awaited them.

Where death awaited the highly skilled people trusting in him to see them home.

Sometimes he hated his job.

----

Once everyone was through, Fenton had quietly talked things over with O'Neill. No matter what the people back home thought, SG-1 was convinced that Buffy wasn't kidding about the potential power of their opponent. This was _not_ something Fenton wanted to hear. He knew his part of the Plan, but there was conspicuously little in said Plan on what he was supposed to do if a fuckin' God showed up tossing lightning bolts and shit at his people. All he'd been told was that 'Buffy would handle it,' which didn't do a whole hell of a lot to increase his confidence in the fucking Plan. But, as usual, they weren't asking him for permission, so he had no option but to shut up and soldier. They had passed through the Mirror three hours and nineteen minutes after Buffy went through, give or take four minutes. It had something to do with them not wanting any of his team to be incapacitated by Entropic Cascade Failure during the upcoming battle, but he had no idea why the time-line was so exact. Or why time passed so much faster here, so that Buffy had already been around for more than a full day from the local perspective. He really hated working with psychics. They were worse than scientists. Not as bad as politicians, but crotch-rot wasn't as bad as dealing with politicians.

SG-1 and Finn's group had gone through just under two hours after Buffy. Some of them had counterparts alive on the alternate Earth, some didn't. They would help move the Mirror to Cleveland so that the main force didn't have to drive across the country with all their gear. Given the vast power requirements for activating the Quantum Mirror Fenton had asked how they expected to conceal it from their opponents. He couldn't believe they'd let her use their single precious ZPM. Fenton had often wondered how alt-Kawolski and alt-Carter had come through the Mirror at Area 51. It was supposed to have been in storage. Yet it would've had to have been hooked up to a friggin' nuclear reactor for there to be enough power to activate it. Some serious chicanery had been going on there… but once again, 'shut up and soldier.'

Trying to focus, he left the warehouse to get some air, and contemplate the First's mansion-slash-fortress. The holographic sessions back at the SGC gave him a good perspective on what they would face, but there was nothing quite like seeing the real thing. Somehow, the place had seemed more impressive in the simulation. Granted that it was a helluva long ways from where he was standing. But in the sim, they'd been able to disregard the clutter, the random buildings and vegetation not pertinent to the mission itself. All sorts of crap between him and the compound took away from the imposing reality of the site. The walls were huge, and impressively fortified. But walls hadn't been enough to keep a determined opponent out since the Middle Ages. Breaching the physical barriers would be no problem.

The problem was there were far more than merely 'physical' barriers in this reality, and Fenton was having a real hard time dealing with the wizards who were supposed to help his team get through them. Maybe he could have handled it if he was dealing with Dumbledore, or some other Hollywood-derived image of what a 'wizard' should look like: an old man with a long white beard and a staff to lean on. But these were _geeks_! If there was anything worse than your standard every-day ordinary _scientist_, it was a D-'n-D playing _nerd_! Their leader, a pinhead named Andrew, had to be the single most socially-retarded individual Fenton had ever met. Which was really saying something, given where he worked. Guy had introduced himself by mentioning, four times in less than five minutes, that he was _not_ a virgin.

The SGC had more than its share of dweebs, but not one of them was as far out there as this Andrew flake. He would have seriously doubted his claim, had not he seen his girl. Fenton considered himself to be pretty generous in using the word 'girl.' She looked like the grand-champion of the planetary 'dogfight' competition. Then he saw her eyes glaring back at him, knowing what he was thinking, and silently communicating that if he ever _voiced_ that opinion she would henceforth take great pleasure in forcibly removing his external appendages from his body. 'Appendages' which included more than just his arms and legs. His momma not having raised any fools, Fenton had not only treated her with due deference from that moment forward, he had forced himself to swallow most of his comments concerning her boyfriend.

Andrew and his clique of morons were their magic-using experts, which meant he had to suck it up and figure out a way to use them without making them run away, crying for mommy, or otherwise acting like typical cosplaying idiots. And Fenton was quite frankly nauseous that he now knew the meaning of the word 'cosplay.' It was a word he could quite happily have lived his entire life without knowing even existed. Fortunately, they would only need the dweebs for the initial attack. Once inside everything depended on whether Buffy and Harris could talk down the Rosenberg chick, who quite frankly sounded to Fenton like the scariest fucking whacko on the face of the earth. Which just went to show you: there was actually something out there worse than cosplaying nerds. The universe truly was a wondrous place, and full of surprises.

A few minutes later O'Neill joined him, along with the local version of Finn. Another surprise. He'd seen _some_ potential in the kid back home, but he'd never imagined such a straight-arrow could turn into the tough, deadly bastard this world had created. In a way it was sad. A man had to be beaten down and get back up again a whole bunch of times in order to create someone this tough. Even on short acquaintance Fenton admired and trusted this one far more than he did their own version of Riley Finn; although he hated the thought of what the boy he had once been had likely been forced to survive in order to become the man he was now. The price had been far too high for his peace of mind. "Colonel."

O'Neill was the senior officer for the mission, even though Fenton was now of the same rank. Which kinda sucked because Fenton would have just told Buffy to go with whatever the fuck her 'Plan C' was, come what may, but O'Neill was obviously going to play this one by the book. Which was why O'Neill _wasn't_ going to top out as a bird colonel, and Fenton figured he himself probably would. He wasn't overly upset by this thought. They all studied the terrain, the angle of the sun; basically wasting time waiting for the show to get on the road. "Buffy and Xander have already left." Finn's voice had no expression, which in itself told O'Neill something.

"You think there's a problem?"

For a few seconds the youngest of the three senior officers was silent, before sighing. "Xander's a good man, and a good friend. He's been doing stuff like this since he was sixteen, without special powers or training or, well, to be perfectly honest, much aptitude. I truly believe that Xander Harris has more raw courage than anyone I have ever known. But this one is a bit too 'over the top' for me, and I don't like how_focused_ Buffy is acting. She's at her best when she's snarky, and confident, and just ready to kick ass and take names. I barely recognize this girl."

O'Neill nodded. "You're wondering if someone that intense will use him, damn the consequences." For a moment Riley was as still as a marble statue, before nodding, just once. O'Neill turned away to stare at the uninteresting vista before them. "You haven't seen her in a long time, Colonel. For you it's been nearly ten years, and I doubt if you've changed as much as she has even though it's been less than two for her. But, that being said, I suspect you are right. Even we can see the difference, and we haven't known her nearly as long as you have. Unfortunately I don't think there's much we can do about it either. We _have_ to do this, and some really smart people think she's the only one who can do it. The change you see isn't necessarily a 'bad' thing. There's a pretty serious downside if we lose this fight, and I wouldn't be very comfortable if she was treating it like an amusement park ride."

Accepting the mild rebuke, Riley thought back to the girl he once knew, the one with a quip for every occasion and a heart as big as the sky. He'd seen her close down as time passed, even understood that was one of the reasons she had remained with him even when she hadn't loved him. For her it had been partly about sex, but looking back, he figured it had mostly been about having someone love her, and accept her, and remind her that she was still human. To this day he felt guilty about leaving her the way he had, but at the time he'd been so hurt he had needed to get away far more than he wanted to provide whatever comfort he could to a girl whose destiny had appalled even the self-centered young man he had been at the time. Never in his life had he felt sorrier for another person than he did for the girl he'd seen when he returned to Sunnydale. What had been done to her was an abomination. Like everyone else whose life really sucked, she'd learned to focus on one issue at a time, one job at a time, one day at a time. All the joy seemed to have been taken from her. She was no longer the wonderful, adventurous, spirited girl he remembered. This was a _Slayer_. One with a job to do. One who would let _nothing_ get in the way of her completing that job.

All that seemed to be left to one of the sweetest girls he had ever known was The Mission. There was no joy, no amusement, not even pride. Even her friends now seemed to be pawns, used when needed, ignored when they were no longer required. Back in Sunnydale she'd slept with Spike just to feel _something_. It hadn't been exactly comfortable for him to know that she was having a threesome with Spike and Faith last night, but it would have been easier had he seen any happiness in her afterwards. For her, the event hadn't even involved that much emotional investment, so far as he could tell. It appeared to him that she was making a statement. To whom, and for what, he did not know. But Xander was his _friend_, and Riley really worried about the safety of his friend, when the friend Xander probably remembered had changed almost as much as her counterpart on this world. And seemed equally dangerous.

But he was a soldier. And like the others, he would do what needed to be done. Because none of them had any better options

----

Looking over at Buffy as they calmly walked along the streets of suburban Cleveland, Xander wondered what she was thinking. There was a time when he'd been able to tell. Her face had been an open book, her emotions easily discernable, her infectious personality bringing joy to his bleak existence. He was the one who wore a mask back then, goofiness concealing the deep horrors of a home life consisting of surly neglect occasionally interrupted by periods of brutal abuse. Since then, they seemed to have switched personalities. He was now the one enjoying his life, while she… wasn't. It hadn't been fun for him, watching life grind her down, his friend becoming progressively more isolated and emotionally crippled. He hadn't known what to say to her when he found out they'd removed her from her Heavenly reward to face a life of violence and brutal horror. Although she'd gradually recovered somewhat, they had never managed to resume the bond they'd enjoyed before that singular event had changed their lives forever.

He still didn't know what to say. Or even how to bring it up for discussion. Fortunately, Buffy decided to break the silence for him. "Are you _sure_ you want to do this, Xan?"

His wry grin was so familiar she could almost see him as a high-school student once again. But he wasn't, and neither was she. "I'm sorta getting the idea you're trying to warn me about something, Buff. And since everyone is telling me you're psychic now, I'm wondering if this here heroic gesture of mine might not turn out so well."

Clasping his hand firmly, Buffy could not face him as she nodded, reluctantly, just once. After an audible sigh, Xander paused to consider the matter for a bit before continuing. "What are my chances?"

"Same as mine: 50/50. The reasons are different, but the odds for almost everything we do are being manipulated to keep everything even. Are you_absolutely certain_ you want to do this, Xan?"

"Of course not!" When she looked up, his grin was back in full bloom. "I'm not so much with the hero-thing, Buff. Never have been. More the 'hide while someone with super-powers deals with it' kinda guy. But your way seems not-so-good this time. Going in, fists flying, is not the way I want this to go down. Not against Willow. And, given the superpower-to-mundane ratio here, I'd say they're going to have to do a whole lot more to protect me than they are Willow, if they want to maintain that 50/50 chance dealie. Or would for you, for that matter."

Which was true. But not for the reasons he thought. Buffy had underestimated Xander before, and did not want to repeat the error. This time she was determined to tell him everything she knew, even the stuff he might be better off not knowing. He deserved the truth. He'd _earned_ it. "After the thing with Rack, Will knew she couldn't handle her power. So she put the onus on us to take care of it _for_ her. She made a powerful spell to hide you from even the First, and she made you immune to her own magic. She's encased her lair in wards so powerful that even the most powerful mages would be stopped cold._You_, on the other hand, will be able to walk right through them. I can't, but the slayer gives me other options, and she deliberately left a few of them open for me to use if necessary."

She paused to let him process the information before continuing. "One of the reasons your words hit so hard was because I _knew_ she'd left herself vulnerable, and only looked at it as an exploitable weakness, not as an expression of trust, a sign of her love for us. She really _is_ our friend. I'm pretty sure she knows how badly she's messed up, but she was always really good at hiding the truth from herself. I just took it as a given that it would come down to a fight. Maybe I should have a bit more faith in my friends."

When he said nothing, she groped for words. "I've… _seen_… some of the things she's done, Xan. It's not pretty. She's not the person I remember. But I'm not the person _she_ remembers either! Had I gone in with my original plan, she would have defended herself. My own self-righteousness would have run into her deluded arrogance, and it would have devolved into a fight pretty much from the get-go. You were right to call me on my bullshit. I really _did_ intend to kill her! I'm told that refusing to kill Dawn was my 'defining moment,' the moment when all of the Ascended races started paying attention to me because it showed that I wasn't like other slayers. I promised myself that I'd remember that, I'd listen to other people, and not automatically assume I know best. Yet there I was, failing the very first test when it came to put up or shut up. I reacted like a _slayer_, and not as a friend. I don't know what I've become, Xan. But I do know it's not the person I _want to be_. And I really want to thank you for letting me know, without rubbing my nose in it."

They walked for awhile before her friend finally responded. "We're facing the most dangerous threat the world has ever known, and you're determined to see us through it. I've thought a lot about what I said too, Buffy, and I'm wondering if we've _both_ been kidding ourselves about what is happening. You're not _turning into_ a slayer. You've _always_ been a slayer! As much as I hate to admit it, you were _right_ to go after Anya. What she did was inexcusable, and you were the only one who could call her into account. Just like you're probably right about what you thought you had to do with Willow. Too many lives depend on us not blowing this, and like you said, even if she's being manipulated, we just can't afford to let her continue to help the First. In truth, I'm not sure you could have made any other call besides the one you made. It was a terrible decision to have to make, but every other possible decision was _worse_!

"You're not being 'evil,' or a 'bad friend.' You simply assessed the situation and made the only possible call, no matter how much that call hurt. I'm not really surprised. I've had the dubious benefit of working with hundreds of slayers now, and I can safely say that you're _different_. You've _always_ been different. Tougher, more determined, smarter even, no matter what you try to pretend. Most of them are real good _fighters_, but that's about it. You're a whole lot more than just someone who can kick ass! You've become someone who can _lead_ them. You've got whatever it is that separates a good general from a decent foot soldier. You're not screwing around here, Buffy. You're here to _win_. And they know it."

When he stopped speaking, Buffy frowned at his words. Was he saying that it wasn't the slayer making her do these things, that it was _her_?! After she had just told him that wasn't the person she wanted to be?! "I used to be really nice…"

He interrupted, glaring at her. "You _used_ to be a _kid_! You _used_ to think the 'good guys' always won, there was only 'right' and 'wrong,' and the world was always 'fair.' Then you grew up, and discovered that things aren't so simple. That the good guys can be assholes, and evil can be pretty damned tempting when doing the 'right' thing causes nothing but heartache. Growing up is hard enough for everyone else, Buffy, but you had the weight of the world on your shoulders, and we didn't do a whole lot to help you when you really needed us most. I look at Willow, at the power she has… and how she's abused it. How she's become everything she hated partly because _we_ let her delude herself with that 'magical addiction' bullshit. She had _power_ issues, pure and simple.

"_You_ had that sort of power, yet you didn't abuse it. Even when you'd have been justified, like laying a serious smackdown on Abrams, there was a line you wouldn't cross. Somehow, for all your flakiness, you knew what would happen once you crossed that line. Willow never even saw the line. Faith saw it and walked right over it without a second thought. A lot of my Ronin know it's there, but just don't give a damn." He turned away from her, his expression bleak. "I'm thinking we might have to introduce something like the _Cruciamentum_ to get a handle on these 'power' issues. It's _that_ serious."

Buffy couldn't hide her shock, and Xander shrugged. "Not the crazy way the Council did it, but we have to come up with a way to show the girls there are limits to their power. When there was just one slayer things were pretty simple, but with so many of them now I sometimes think it's like feeding time at the zoo, the way they fight among themselves for dominance. We got lucky in that Dawn was smarter than anyone else and Faith was _meaner_ than anyone else, so the two of them together were unbeatable. But if you get small groups of them together it's like watching wild animals 'play fight' to determine who is the strongest. Every goddamn time I turn around there's another fight! Even worse, once the local dominant female is established, her friends will exploit their position, or dig into her until they start a guilt trip about 'power going to their head' unless they do what _they_ want. There's no real _leadership_, only _dominance_, and manipulation, and emotional blackmail, and jockeying for position under the dominant female.

"Part of it is they are just kids, but they're kids with power, and if Faith –and later China and Grace—hadn't been around, we'd have seen a for-real 'Lord of the Flies' situation. The First's teams pretty much are that way. They'd be a lot more dangerous if they weren't undergoing this constant internal struggle for dominance. We've got it more under control because we're under external threat, and have a leadership team who clamps down on it, but for me this has still been a pretty interesting experience having a ring-side seat to the real-time exercise of the law of the jungle. We never went through anything like this back in Sunnydale.

"Which shows, more than anything else, how special you really are." He squeezed her hand, and smiled at her, and suddenly the world didn't seem quite so bad, if only for a minute. "Not only because there was only one slayer. It was because of the way you _exercised_ your power. You had self-imposed limits, and even in the area where you acted as judge, jury, and executioner, you followed rules that were simple, consistent, and fair. Even the damned _vampires_ didn't really have a problem with how you did your job! They just resented the fact that _you_ were at the top of the food chain instead of _them_. I thought that was just the way vampires acted, but it turns out slayers aren't a whole lot different. Hell, maybe that's true for humans in general. There's this unending competition for dominance. You were right when you said it was all about _power_. The difference was that you accepted limits on your power, and weren't out to acquire as much as possible just for the sake of having it. For you, Duty _always_ came before personal power.

"You had issues –hell, who doesn't?—but I've dealt with enough slayers to know that the package does not come with improved leadership qualities or benevolent ethics. It's kinda pathetic that we all know this thing needs to be done, but we're _forcing_ you to drag us along kicking and screaming in order to do it. How many times have we done that, Buff? Forced you to push us into doing what needed to be done, because we were afraid? The Watchers never taught leadership skills, because until you came along they never needed to. The rest of them were just 'slayers.' Tools to be used. Things have changed. The opponents we're up against have changed. My Ronin could handle any vampire, even some lower demons. But I gotta be honest; they'd just be cannon-fodder going against the First. What is needed is everyone working together to beat such a powerful enemy, and they're just not built to handle something like that. _You are_, far more now than you used to be. You've grown up to become the equivalent of a _General_, and that's what _Generals_ do."

Once again, he smiled down at her upturned face, releasing her hand to put his arm over her shoulder so he could squeeze affectionately. "How could you not be screwed up, Buffy?! You've become really powerful, and everyone wants a piece of that power. You've been forced to grow tough to protect yourself, or they'd take away everything from you, one piece at a time. You are what we've made you become, what you had no choice but to become if we are to survive. You might not have grown up to be the person you _want_ to be, but you have turned into the person we _need_ you to be!

"Okay, some of them are accusing you of being an autocratic bitch. You're _in charge_ here, and sometimes that's the way you _have_ to be when you're in charge. Believe me; I know. Especially when there are so many idiots trying to oppose you for their own moronic reasons. You're _not_ sixteen anymore, Buffy! You've got hundreds of soldiers subject to your orders. Entire races of god-like beings are following your lead. What's happening here is _important_, and you're handling it with the respect it deserves. If you were the way you were used to be, you wouldn't be able to do that. People might find that girl more amusing or fun to hang out with, but nobody would _follow_ her! Instead of worrying that you're not as 'nice' as you used to be, maybe you should notice the _respect _these people give you. They don't see a 'bitch,' and they don't _want_ to see a cheerleader. These people are _professionals_. What they_want_ to see is someone they can trust to _get the job done_! And that is _exactly_ what they _are_ seeing."

When Buffy tried to object he hugged her tightly. "What concerns me is that you don't seem to get any joy out of life any more. In a way it's even worse than when we brought you back from the dead, because then you didn't feel _anything_. From what I've seen you _are_ experiencing emotions this time, just not the good ones. I…ah… couldn't help but noticing who you went to bed with last night. None of my business, but I sort of expected you would be a bit more… uh, _enthusiastic_, perhaps, this morning?"

She shrugged, feeling herself blush. It didn't bother her that SG1 knew how she'd spent her night –she'd gone to considerable effort to make damned sure they saw it happen-- but it was something else when_Xander_ knew about it! Her voice was a bit unsteady as she tried to explain. "Fifty/fifty chance of surviving, Xand. Might be my _last_ chance. Always wondered what it would be like; never had the guts to try it. If not now, then when? Turned out it wasn't what I was looking for. All groping and no seduction. No cuddling afterwards, no whispers or giggling, no real _meaning_. It was…_fun_, I suppose, if that is all you're looking for. But I was looking for, I dunno, _more _I suppose, and I don't think I'll try it again. I actually care a lot about them both, but they treated it like a contest instead of… whatever it was I was expecting them to treat it as. Two of the hottest people I've ever met, and it was… well, kinda cold and mechanical, actually. Majorly disappointing. And can we please not talk about it anymore?"

Not even trying to conceal his relief, Xander squeezed her again, enjoying the closeness, friendship without intimacy. "For all your kinkiness, you really are a closet romantic, aren't you? You had me worried for a minute there, but now I understand. I just hope you aren't hoping to find something like what you experienced with Angel. Sorry, Buffy, but those moments are reserved for sixteen year olds. Once you grow up a little, other considerations come into play and nothing is that intense ever again. Or, even worse, you become one of those Hollywood idiots re-marrying every two years hoping to recreate the initial rush, but unwilling to put the effort required to make a relationship actually _work_! Those two last night might be hot, and competitive, but they also know it wasn't for the long-haul, so they just wanted to have _fun_. You? You're looking for something that will _last_. But you're not going to find it here. And not with _them_.

"Anyways, what I'm trying to say is that if you're worried you're tuning into a robot or whatever, I'm pretty sure you're not. What is happening is that you're acting like the adult you have to be in order to make this work. You have a job to do and a bunch of puissant little douchebags are dragging you down, so worried about their little empires they don't give a damn what happens to the rest of the world so long as they can maintain their position as big fish in whatever little pond they currently inhabit. My opinion? I say they can all go screw themselves!

"I gave this a lot of thought last night… during the odd moment when I wasn't haven't incredibly hot sex with your little sister. _Oooff_!" The elbow she dug into his ribs wasn't hard enough to merit such a reaction, but it did make her smile, which was the intent. He smiled back, and when he resumed, his expression was typically carefree, the way it used to be, and not the way it had been since her return. "This job has to _be_ done, you had to be a bit of a bitch to_get_ it done, but in the end it _got_ done. Some jerks got their panties in a wad over the way your strong-armed them. Tough tittie. If they don't like the way you did it that's just too goddamned bad. After it's all over we'll get drunk and smoke some dope and watch some porn and party 'til we puke. The politicians will spin it to get all the glory, toss our asses in jail, and pretend it was their idea all along. But since they would do that no matter what, I say 'fuck 'em.'"

Finally, after far too long, he managed to get her to smile. It was a bit wry, and didn't light up her face the way her smiles once did, but it was real and heartfelt and Xander felt like he'd won the lottery. A big part of his self-assigned job was to take some of the load from his friend's slight shoulders, to remind her that things would get better, that she had friends who cared about her. Evidently she didn't have a lot of friends on her new world reminding her of those things, because she seemed astonished to realize they were true.

Buffy could not believe that she had never even considered what Xander saw so clearly. The President had played her far more skillfully than she'd played Kinsey. He'd thrown everything into a 'guilt-trip' stew, and she'd fallen for it. But he'd done it for the same reason she did: they both had a real big problem, and needed each other to solve it. Yes, she was screwed up. But so was Jack, and probably most of the other people she was working with, in their own unique way. She was actually doing a better job of 'dealing with it' than she had thought as well. On the other world, Willow and Tara had become as good friends as they had been on this one. They nagged her about her weight, cared for her when she was hurt, sent her to bed when she was tired. Her mother not only loved her, but_liked_ the person she had become. The people at the SGC respected her and sought her council on matters which involved her unique area of expertise. She didn't know what Bra'tac had told the Jaffa, but they all seemed to think she could walk on water. The incredible stresses of having to deal with the First, and all the attendant problems of forcing everyone else to help her do so, had masked the reality that she was actually not as despondent or isolated as she sometimes felt. Overstressed, overworked, scared shitless of what she was about to face perhaps; but she wasn't suicidal, and she really, _really_ wanted to beat this thing.

Except for the politicians, everyone treated her like she was something special, someone they were proud to know and work alongside. People whose respect she actually wanted did, in fact, seem to respect _her_… if not always respect the choices she made. But they were _adults_, and treated her like one by not interfering in matters which were not their concern. So she was a little broody. When you assumed adult responsibilities, life was no longer just fun and games. Other adults generally didn't respect those adults who acted like it was. They were a lot of fun to party with, but not the sort you trusted to handle anything really_important_. Maybe things really weren't so bad after all…

Except that back in the SGC world, the politicians_despised_ her. And they were the ones with the power on that world.

When she mentioned that fact to Xander, he sighed. "I really should smack that O'Neill jerk for not teaching you Politician 101… except for the fact that, uhm, he'd hit me back, and he seems like someone who really knows how to make it hurt. Anyway, along with the military stuff, they should have educated you on the basics of the care and feeding of politicians. This particular species of demon is unlike any you have ever encountered, and they should have been smart enough to realize you would have no experience in handling them. My work with the Ronin occasionally required that I deal with these beasts, so I will offer you the benefit of my considerable experience and breathtaking wisdom. Point The First: politicians are _parasites_! They like to _pretend_ they are at the top of the food chain, but in reality they cannot survive without a host they can exploit. They need _money_ the way a vampire needs blood. They cannot survive without it, and will do whatever they must do in order to get it.

"There are other rules, but none of them matter. Rule Number One is the only one that counts. We heard about all the crap they put you through back on your new world and it's pretty obvious that you did not understand either what was going down or how you were supposed to deal with it. I will explain it as simply as possible. Cease your attempts at chattering, woman; I am _educating_ here! The President needed to placate those people who pay his bills. You needed to give him what _he_ wanted so he could give _them_ what _they_ wanted. In return, he would give you what _you_ wanted. See how easy it is?"

Buffy had been trying to explain, despite his stern glances at her attempted interruption. "I _did_ give in… eventually. But it was so _unfair_! He was being an _idiot_! Do you realize the consequences…."

She clamped down on the tirade as Xander sighed theatrically. "Buffy, Buffy, Buffy! My poor deluded innocent child! Let me explain. He didn't want you to _not_ use the Key to fight the First. He wanted you to _say_ that you wouldn't use the Key to fight the First! He _didn't care_ whether you meant it or not. He just wanted to go back to his money people and be able to tell them that yes, you had agreed _not_ to use the Key to fight the First. If you were lying what were they going to do about it? Not vote for you? You'll notice they gave you everything you asked for, and there is no way they can take it back again afterwards if it turned out you _lied_. Yes, I did hear your little aside to Colonel O'Neill accusing him of having a nuke. He _doesn't_ have one. He wouldn't use it that way even if he _did _have one! Whether you realize it or not, the SGC doesn't give a damn about the politics behind this. They've been told to help you take down the First, and they intend to do just that.

"Forget the politicians, Buff. That's over and done with. So far as the troops are concerned, the debates and discussions are over. _They_ believe in this mission. And from what I can see, they believe in _you_."

It took Buffy a long time to consider his words. To recall the President practically pleading with her, and his obvious exasperation when she didn't understand where he was coming from, and wouldn't give him what he wanted. To recall that O'Neill might have been willing to take out Abydos with a nuclear bomb at one point, but he was no longer the type to consent to a suicide mission. And to recall the individual soldiers, many of whom had casually noted that nowhere in the Plan did it say how they would actually _defeat_ the First, but had only looked up at her and smirked. None of them had doubted how the mission would go down. And none of them seemed to doubt that she would be able to do what they all suspected she had intended to do from the very beginning. "When we left, Riley almost saluted."

Nodding, Xander noted that they were getting close to their infiltration point. "He's worried about me, and a bit frightened of _you_. You've changed a lot from the girl he remembers. But the soldier in him recognizes what you've become. I'm fairly certain he'll never make a pass at you again. Not because he doesn't find you attractive anymore, or even because Sam would cut his balls off if he ever tried, but because in his mind you've gone from 'ex-girlfriend' to 'superior officer.' I think that will come as quite a relief to him. The pressure will be off. He loves you more than he loves Sam, but now realizes that is something that will never happen. Me and Riley have a lot in common. We're both loyal to our friends, and protective of our families. We like simple things, but understand that some things are just too damned complicated to be reduced to simple talking points. We both like kids, so long as they belong to someone else.

"And we both fell for extraordinary women who unfortunately don't love us as much as we love them."

As he fell silent Buffy looked up at him in shock. His expression was almost serene; not happy, but accepting what he couldn't control. For a minute she had a horrifying thought that maybe he was talking about _her_ before reality set in. "That's not true, Xan! She _loves_ you!"

His smile was a bit self-deprecating, sad but not maudlin. "She's going places I can't follow, Buffy. It's really okay. I've been through this before. That's the downside to falling for very special, very powerful women. Sooner or later their destinies and mine diverge. It's not something I'm real happy about, but I'm enough of a realist to know that sometimes extraordinary people have extraordinary destinies. And you thought I never learned anything reading all those Spiderman comics! Even if this little fracas didn't come up, sooner or later Dawn would have had no choice but to move on. I can practically see her growing, evolving into whatever it is she is destined to become. It really is incredible, and I'm really proud to have been a small part of her evolution. Instead of tilting at windmills trying to deny it or hold her back, I'm just grateful for the time we had together.

"I'm more worried about how _you_ are going to handle it, Buffy. _You've_ always been the 'special' one. _You've_ always been the one with the mystical destiny. It's always been the rest of us who have to stand aside, and let you do whatever it was you needed to do. But now you're going to be in the same uncomfortable position your mother was in with you. This time _you're_ going to have to stand back and let _Dawn_ become whatever it is she's becoming. I don't know if you're ready for that. In a lot of ways Dawn has always been the child you'll never have. Now you're done with the parenting thing and she's ready to leave the nest. She's ready; but you're not. You've lost too many of your other friends. I wasn't really thrilled with you going off with Faith and Spike, but I'd hoped they would be able to help you deal with it when Dawn leaves. I don't want you to be alone when it happens. Because it's gonna hurt like hell."

Swallowing on a dry throat, Buffy nodded without answering. That was the problem with percepto-Xander. He saw things she didn't want to see. Losing her mom almost broke her. Now she'd also lost Angel and Giles. Losing _Dawn_ would be the worst of all. Although she wouldn't really be _losing_ Dawn. She just hoped she could be as mature about it as Xander, and celebrate Dawn growing into whatever destiny awaited her, instead of trying to hold her back out of a selfish fear of loneliness. But that was for later. First they had to survive the day, not brood over issues they couldn't change. "I still hope you can go the distance with Dawn, but if it isn't meant to be, I won't say I'm surprised. Let's face it, Xan: you're a demon magnet. Ever since you lost your eye in the Winery I've known you were destined to marry the One-Eyed Gott."

"The _what? _!"

"You know… like in that old song by The Four Tops. 'Ain't No Woman Like The One-Eyed Gott." It took a moment for her smile to appear, and she shrieked with laughter and pretended to try to get away when he put her in a head-lock and inflicted a serious noogie on the top of her skull. For just one shining moment they were kids again, and they shared a smile before the resumed their approach to the compound. If soon faded, as they realized what would very soon be in store for them all. But as far as both were concerned, that shared moment was far more important than any 'saving the universe' thing.


	24. Chapter 23

Chapter 23 

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

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**Return To Normal**

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**Chapter Twenty Three**

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They'd timed the infiltration pretty carefully. They needed to go in when Willow would be in her lab, either alone or at least not accompanied by the First. Fortunately some of the software taps Dawn had programmed into the Slayers Inc. security database before she fled were so subtle they hadn't been detected. One of them had exploited an apparently mundane piece of information. The air conditioning units were so high-tech they could be remotely monitored over the 'Net for maintenance purposes. You needed an access code to bring up the data, and another one to change any settings, but Dawn only needed the first one to check if the a/c was turned on in Willow's lab or not. Once she was close enough, Buffy would be able to 'sense' if the First was inside with her. Since many of the other slayers in the Compound were the same age as the real Buffy was now, it was unlikely the First would find anything unusual should she detect her in return.

The second piece of good news was that Willow's lab was fairly isolated due to the peculiar nature of some of her experiments. Being male, Xander would stand out rather markedly should he be seen within the Compound. Given his merely-human abilities, it would also be difficult for him to remain unseen once they infiltrated. The SGC came through for them with some specialized gear which made him far less likely to be observed than had he been wearing normal clothing. Very black, very tight, very form-fitting camouflage combat uniforms. He should have looked really cool in what looked almost like full ninja regalia, but Xander though it made him look like a fanboi dressing up as Recca for Comic-con. Buffy, on the other hand, looked so hot that Dawn swatted him on the back of the head for staring at her ass so blatantly. Both sisters appeared to find it all quite amusing. What mattered, however, was that even slayer senses would be hard-pressed to see them, unless they were specifically looking for them.

'Hard pressed' did not mean 'impossible,' however, and Xander made enough noise during their covert entrance to warn every slayer in the area… had there actually been any slayers in the immediate area to hear him. It wasn't that he was being particularly noisy, for a civilian. Slayers and special-ops commandoes simply had the advantage of learning early and well how to remain silent, or they died even earlier and not well at all. The Darwinian winnowing meant they were able to move while remaining dead silent: and Xander wasn't. Fortunately it was universally assumed that nobody in their right mind would dare attempt to sneak into the Slayers Inc. compound. There were a few girls out on patrol, but they were more interested in gossiping amongst themselves than in really checking things out. They would 'sense' any invading vampires, and it was taken as a given by one and all that the Compound was impregnable. Besides, if anyone was stupid enough to put that assumption to the test, their mystical defenses would stop them from doing any serious damage.

The SGC had tested more than a dozen sensor platforms before they found one that Andrew's collection of wizards couldn't detect. Everyone knew Willow was far more powerful than any magic-wielder on the Ronin payroll, but some risks had to be taken. Even the most distracted slayer would be able to hear Xander tromping about like a rhino in heat, but thanks to Sam's sensor drones flying far overhead, they had a pretty fair idea as to where those slayers were located, and deliberately chose a route to evade them as much as possible. It actually got easier as they got further into the Compound, as not even the few patrolling slayers ever went near Willow's Lair. Not just because she was more than capable of handling anything foolish enough to try to break in, or even because she scared the crap out of them. Mostly it was because the mystical wards surrounding the building were strong enough to be impenetrable even to a slayer.

_Especially_ to a slayer.

It wasn't really strength alone which ordinarily permitted a slayer to breach mystical wards. As a creature of magic herself, she had a natural affinity for such things. Given enough time, a slayer could penetrate just about any mystical barrier, no matter how powerful the mage who established it. As was normally the case, however, the key words were 'given enough time.' Such wards were usually backed up by more conventional means of maintaining security, and it was the rare slayer who could make herself turn invisible. Buffy did not happen to be one of them. By the third barrier, she was at her limit. The power it took her to breach the invisible force field took so long, required such an expenditure of energy, and caused so much noise, that one of the patrolling slayers was almost guaranteed to notice sooner or later. Thor's Hammer might have been strong enough to breach the barrier, but it was still sitting in her locker back under Cheyenne Mountain. Knowing that she would be unable to use it effectively once the spell was deactivated, she'd left it behind. Nothing else she knew of was anywhere near strong enough to do what needed to be done to breach those wards.

When she glanced over at Xander, who had walked right through the barriers without even noticing they were there, both knew the time had come for him to proceed without her. It was simply taking her too long to work her way through. The success of their entire mission was suddenly dependant on a man without special powers, without any mystical destiny, armed with nothing more than his own innate abilities, and who would be going up against the most powerful witch the world had seen in the past millennium.

For some reason, Buffy found that appropriate.

For long seconds they stared into each other's eyes, not knowing what to say. They'd been in this position before, but it never got any easier. So far they'd been lucky, but both wondered if this would be the time their luck ran out. Both were also aware that while Xander might be immune to Willow's magic, that wouldn't help him if he ran into one of the opposition slayers, should one of them be inside, hidden beyond the view of the hovering sensors. Kennedy and Willow did still maintain a physical relationship, after all, and nobody knew where she was at that moment. Buffy was supposed to take care of her had she been in the area. She hadn't sensed her, but there was no guarantee that she would be able to. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done about it. The latest barrier had been an anti-gravity wall, leaving Buffy hanging in mid-air with no leverage to push forward. Normally a slayer would respond to something like that by throwing sharp objects at the fool maintaining such a barrier, but unlike the average witch Willow was so powerful she didn't actually have to be present in person to maintain it. Without either saying a word they knew what they'd have to do. What they always did. Do what was necessary, and hope for the best.

So neither said anything. With a kind of casual wave, Buffy turned and left him, heading towards the Portal Facility, the fortress-like building where the First was installing the portal device it had spent so much blood and treasure to develop. She didn't turn back. She couldn't. Despite Elizabeth's precognitive abilities, there was no way for her to know how things would turn out this time. Vast armies of ascended beings were ensuring that their 'test' was 'fair,' which meant everything was so precariously balanced the outcome of every possible event changed on a second-by-second basis. There was no way for her to predict what would happen during this meeting with his childhood friend, nor any way to delude herself into thinking they had a good chance of actually pulling this off. Leaving Xander to face a situation he only had a fifty percent chance of surviving made her feel selfish, and cowardly, and very, very lonely.

Not that she had any choice in the matter, or that her presence would have changed those odds any. It was just killing her to abandon Xander to such an uncertain fate. It was not a comforting thought for her to realize that Xander had pretty much dedicated his entire life to her. From the moment he discovered her true identity, Xander had chosen to help her, no matter what it cost, no matter what the challenge. Even on those occasions when his lack of supernatural endowments meant that his help was limited to simply _being there_ for her, supporting her as much as he could, --providing donuts, she thought with a wistful, fond smile--Xander had never given up the fight. Yet he was about to face the most dangerous situation he had ever been placed in, and she wouldn't be there to support _him_.

It left her wondering who the _real_ hero was.

And in this case, knowing the answer.

-----

There were warning signs everywhere. In another time and place, they might even have been amusing. 'Beware of Witch' and 'Enter At Extreme Peril' seemed more bluntly accurate than fanciful, but Xander sewed up his courage and continued walking. The outer door had looked to be strong enough to stop a tank. It opened at his touch. Runes covered the entrance walls. Most of them glowed malevolently, but their dark light dimmed, almost reluctantly, as he passed. There were faint noises, indications of movement in the shadows, but nothing came at him. Had he been anyone else, Xander suspected these defenses would be far, far more deadly and terrifying than anything he could imagine. Even though absolutely nothing was happening, he admitted to being scared out of his wits. He reminded himself for the millionth time that Willow was his _friend_. But he wasn't blind to the fact that she was barely sane, completely out of touch with reality, and he didn't know if she had enough control over herself not to lash out in anger without thinking about the consequences. He suspected she would feel really bad about blowing him to smithereens afterwards, but that wouldn't do a helluva lot to return his intestinal tract to its normal place within his abdomen.

When he came to what he suspected would be the final barrier between himself and whatever his friend had become, Xander paused, wondering if he should knock. The sign on the door was pretty emphatic –'_Enter Uninvited And You_ Die!!'—so feeling discretion being the better part of valor he lightly tapped on the door before twisting the handle and entering, despite not hearing an invitation to come in. It wasn't like he was going to go away if she had refused him permission, after all.

Inside, it looked like what it was: a witches lair. Lots of candles, strange plants, mist rising from the shadows, unappetizing things being cooked up in large pots. Willow was alone, working on something, reading from a large, ancient book open on a pedestal, selecting tiny amounts of colored powders from various finger-bowls. Feeling his jaw drop, Xander blurted out his first words without even pausing to think. "What the hell have you done to your chest?!"

Taking her time to look up and over towards him, Willow practically modeled her elaborate gown. It was in black, of course, leather and lace, trimmed with elaborate layers of chiffon. On anyone else he'd have thought the costume looked kinda hot, somewhat Elvira-esque even. On Willow it just looked ridiculous. Especially due to the deeply plunging neckline, exposing significant amounts of what appeared to be double-D-sized breasts. When she finally, oh-so-casually looked at him, it took long seconds for them to stop wobbling and jiggling. Were she anyone else he'd have found it a pretty nice display. On Willow he didn't find it erotic, or sexy, or even attractive. They were as fake as her perfectly smooth skin, her brilliant eyes, her pouting lips. He'd seen Barbie dolls that looked more real.

When she spoke, even her voice didn't sound right. It was deeper, throatier. Obviously intended to sound sexy, but serving only to make him wonder if he should offer her a lozenge. "Why Xander, I'm disappointed! Not even a 'hello' for your old friend? No questions about the weather, my health? You time in the wilderness with your latest monster playmate haven't done much for your manners."

His eyes narrowed. He had been nervous a few seconds earlier, but that trepidation disappeared when she insulted Dawn. "What's your new definition of 'monster,' Wil? You are the _last_ person who should be calling on someone for sleeping with a 'monster.' And don't give me any crap about not knowing what I'm talking about. You know damned well what I mean."

She frowned, and did a kind of flinging motion with her fingers, causing her brow to furrow even further when nothing happened. Xander noticed her looking over towards one corner, where a concealed gun barrel could just be seen. He sighed, hoping it was only a dart gun but not checking too closely, and showed her the BGT. Even with his immunity to her magic, he hadn't neglected to consider that she might have non-magical defenses. Her eyes went wide in a sarcastic display of amazement. "Why you actually managed to_think ahead_! Congratulations, Xander. Does little Dawnie dress you as well? Very ninja-esque. Although you're carrying about twenty pounds too much to be wearing something that tight."

If she was trying to insult him, that wasn't the way to do it. "What can I say, Wil. We eat well. I've gotten to be a pretty good cook, in fact. Maybe I could use a bit more exercise, but my thirtieth birthday is behind me now, and my days as a young stud are over. Yours too. Do you have any idea how ridiculous you look?" He ignored her angry glare to quickly glance around the room. "Then again, maybe you don't. No mirrors anywhere. Don't like what you see in them, Wil?"

The shot went home. It had been a long time since anyone had dared insult Willow. Doing so could be a fatal mistake. The pain in her eyes came and went so fast that if he hadn't been looking for it, if he hadn't known her so well, Xander might have missed it. But he knew what he'd seen, and took it as a good sign. If she was as far gone as he'd worried she might be, she wouldn't have given a damn what he thought. "There are a _lot_ of people who would disagree with you! And most of them are far better looking, richer, and more famous than a chubby little 'monster-baiting' _carpenter_!!"

Even in a situation such as this Xander couldn't help but smile at the pun. Willow couldn't help but respond to his smile, until a fraction of a second later both realized where they were. Xander shook his head sadly at what he was seeing. "Is that why you did this to yourself? Thinking that if you turn yourself into a plastic mannequin who doesn't _look_ like you, or _sound_ like you, or _act_ like you, then the First will like this fake person who _isn't_ you?"

He started walking towards her, slowly, not wanting to startle her or in any way make her feel that she didn't have the situation fully under control. Xander was betting that she would let him talk, but suspected that if he did anything truly threatening she would end things quickly by opening a hidden trap door under him, or dropping a hidden safe on top of him. So he didn't get too close. Just close enough to see just how messed up she actually was. Her eyes were glazed. The artificial 'sparkle' effect had hidden it from a distance, but up close he could see that she was either drugged or crazy with the effects of her own magical power, aware of how screwed up she was and unable to figure a way out of her situation. The last time she'd looked this crazy she'd tried to destroy the world. This time he suspected she had sought out a different solution to her problem. Before she could respond to his accusation, he continued. "I'm not here to kill you, Wil."

For a second she looked like she didn't know how to respond, confusion and indignation warring with offended egotism, before she waved her hand, disappeared, causing him to jump about a foot in shocked surprise when her voice came from directly behind him. "Like you_could_ even if you _tried_! And you think _I'm_ deluded! If you think _you_ could ever harm _me_ then you're an even bigger idiot than I always thought you were!"

Xander merely smiled, a bit wryly, like he usually did when he was insulted, but amused none the less. He knew Willow too well to take her insults at face value. "Yet here you are, all alone with the one person your magic can't affect. All it would have taken was for you to have even one slayer here with you, or a monster you could release from its cage. Don't think I didn't notice how weak the external defenses were. Buffy told me her plan to take you out, but I never thought it would work against someone as smart as you. Only I couldn't help but notice as we worked our way in that it was almost as if you had _deliberately_ left open every single door she would need to infiltrate your most impregnable sanctum. It was so obvious even Buffy noticed it! The minute she had an excuse not to come any further she practically ran away. I can't say I blame her either. I don't think she was too happy about being selected as your instrument of 'suicide by Buffy.'"

This time he wasn't smiling at her, and ignored her indignant sputterings of denial, pounding away, too angry to be intimidated anymore. "You did that to her before, you know. When you came home from England, and weren't sure if you could handle the magic. You basically told Buffy that it was _her_ responsibility as the Slayer to kill her friends if they crossed some arbitrary ethical line. I love you Wil, but that was a _terrible_ thing to lay on a friend! You essentially told her that you no longer had to take responsibility for your own actions, because it was _her_ job to stop you if you went off the deep end. That's _bullshit_! We're not kids anymore, and you _are_ responsible for what you do. The way I see it, pleading that it is _someone else's_ job to keep you in line just ain't gonna cut it."

Sneering, she went on the attack. Willow never had liked to look too deeply at herself. "What _do_ you see, Xander? Do you see _me_? The 'me' that I am now, or the 'me' that you remember? Because you remember a _child_, and I obviously am no longer a child! Perhaps you're just not seeing things very clearly anymore. Do you miss your other eye? I can give it back, you know. Of course, it will have to come from someone else. There's always a price for magic. But I assure you, I'll take it from someone you _don't know_! A stranger. Someone who doesn't need it as badly as you, and certainly doesn't deserve it as much as you. How about it, Xan? Don't you _deserve_ this? For '_old time's sake_?!'"

Sighing, Xander just shook his head, not even tempted. "How many flat-chested woman are there out there so that you can have those gravity-defying comic-book titties, Will? What price have you paid… and more importantly, what price have you made_other_ people pay so that you can _try_ to feel better about yourself by pretending to be _someone else_?"

Frustration was visible in her expression as she did some gesture with her hand, yet once again nothing happened. She did _not_ appear to be pleased with the failure. "This _is_ who I am now, dammit! As for what it cost: who _cares_? I _earned_ it! I saved them all a hundred times over! You think I'm the bad guy just because I'm not part of your little group of Scoobie-wannabe's, but I_protected_ you! I never told anyone what Dawn really is! I didn't use my power to stop you! Believe me; I _could_ have, if I'd wanted to. And what makes you think _my_ Buffy is the First? Just because she's doing some things you don't like? Things which I should mention are backed by the government and supported by the public, unlike what you are doing with your little band of murdering _terrorists_?! She might be a little different than the way you remember her, but that hardly means she is the embodiment of pure 'evil.' People change, Xander. It's called 'growing up.' Something you obviously know _nothing_ about!"

Xander just sighed. He didn't want this, but wasn't going to back down from it either. "I've spent years wondering what could have happened to change you from the wonderful friend I knew into… whatever the hell it is you are now. But looking back, I should have seen this coming a long time ago. You were smarter than any of us, but you needed us to validate your brilliance. You became more powerful than any of us, but you needed us to _acknowledge_ that power, to bow before your superiority. Every goddamn time, you needed _someone else_ to tell you that you were smart, or powerful, or whatever, to prop up your self-esteem. _Every time_ you ran into trouble you turned to someone else to fix if for you and tell you everything was okay. So you never had to _acknowledge_ your mistakes, or grow, or mature, by _learning_ from those mistakes! All you did was get more and more _powerful_, and keep proving to everyone that you_couldn't handle_ that power! _Our_ big mistake was that we let you get away with it! We did that because you were our _friend_! Every time you'd turn to me or Buffy or Tara or Kennedy to make things right, to say it wasn't your fault, to pretend that everything was alright.

"But it wasn't 'alright,' was it Wil? It's kind of funny that Tara turned out to be the _strongest_ of us all. And the smartest. She always seemed so _weak_, like anyone could and most people would push her around. But _you_ couldn't! She saw what we all _refused to see_, and wouldn't put up with your bullshit. All she ever wanted was for you to take responsibility for your own actions, to _grow up_ and deal with the consequences of your behavior. To treat her like a _partner_ instead of a paper doll for you to manipulate into whatever you wanted her to be that day. No wonder she left you, Wil! She saw what you were turning into.

"And now you _have_ turned into everything she hated."

It was the worst insult he could ever say, and it struck home with almost physical force. For a second the unbearable pain on her face tore at his heart… until she got control over herself, and her expression turned into one of such enraged hatred he was suddenly afraid she intended to turn that phrase into painful reality.

------

It was just a tickle of awareness. Most people experienced something like it occasionally, the feeling of being watched, a sense of impending danger. Far more subtle than slayer senses detecting a vampire in the vicinity, but triggering the same sort of response. 'Fight or flight' instincts went back a long way in the evolutionary chain. In slayers they were a lot closer to the surface. Even when triggered by the presence of another slayer.

Buffy knew who it was right away, but hadn't forgotten that although her senses would pick up any of the Sunnydale Potentials she couldn't detect the kiddies. So she wasn't entirely caught by surprise when one of Kennedy's bodyguards suddenly appeared from her blind side. The girl was big –even bigger than China—but not as fast, and not nearly as smart. Had she managed to land the haymaker as intended it would have been game over, but she never even considered the possibility that her first punch wouldn't land, so didn't have a follow-up move already in motion just in case. Buffy responded instantly, moving faster than the girl could believe, shifting and rolling and kicking out to take down the off-balance slayer, who seemed shocked that her target hadn't just stood there to be hit. Once down a swift kick to the head ensured she would stay that way, and Buffy was back on her feet before any of the others could try to take advantage of her prone position.

To her surprise Kennedy hadn't even tried to exploit Buffy's momentary weakened position. She was smiling, actually applauding, the noise unexpectedly disconcerting, her expression a bit sarcastic but more amused than surprised. The two other slayers comprising her bodyguard seemed less impressed, a lot angrier, and a bit resentful they had been held back. Kennedy didn't appear to be overly concerned about their feelings, however. "Well, well, _well_! If it isn't the Big Buffster! Back from the dead once again! Do you have, like, a hotel room in _heeeav-ennn_" she sang the word, like Buffy had when under the control of Sweet's spell "…where you check in for a night or two, before returning? Does it take credit cards? Do you have to, like, leave your passport at the front desk?"

Buffy didn't respond, keeping her eyes on Kennedy. Despite being half the size of the bodyguards, she was by far the most dangerous of the three. Dawn had sent through every report the Ronin had managed to dig up on Kennedy, and Buffy had studied them very carefully. She knew how dangerous the girl was. How much she trained. How much she enjoyed beating people, gloating in her physical dominance, relishing the chance to demonstrate her power over others. Buffy wasn't afraid of her, but she didn't intend to underestimate her either. "How did you find me?"

The slim girl shrugged, confident, smug in her gloating. "Wasn't that hard. We knew you were alive. Knew you were planning to attack the Compound sooner or later. To be honest, I thought it would be… sooner! But I suppose, based on past experience, it takes a _looong_ time for you to get your shit together. What? You thought you could_surprise_ us?! Babe, the First has had you in her sights for_years_ now! Oh, yeah, we know all about that other universe and your little friends with the ray guns. The Ronin are monitored up to the fare thee well. We know your plan, the Powers' plan, even the deal with the Ancients. What a joke! 'Ancient' my ass. The First was already 'ancient' when those gutless gasbags were in diapers. You're operating _waaaay_ out of your league here, Buffy."

If she expected the revelation to unnerve the other girl, she was mistaken. Buffy knew full well that the First had known she was alive. She just hoped the First didn't know that she knew. Given her reluctance to believe in the reality of precognition, it was even possible that she didn't. But that didn't mean the First wouldn't have planned for the possibility, so it was entirely possible this was all part of the First's underlying plan. Fortunately, two could play at that game. Buffy didn't delude herself into believing she could out-think a god. Fortunately, she hadn't done so when coming up with her plan. "I walked right in here, Kenn. Nobody tried to stop me. If the First knows what we're up to, how come it hasn't warned everyone to be on alert?"

She shrugged. "Why bother? We already know when your band of losers intends to strike. We'll be ready for them. And it's not like you're much of a threat all by your lonesome."

"I think you might be wrong about that."

For a second, Kennedy looked at her with an expression of open contempt. "I sincerely doubt that."

Buffy just smiled. "I don't."

A second later there were a series of deafening explosions. The Ronin had arrived.

------

Faith couldn't help but smile. Mostly in relief that it was finally happening, but also in large part at the realization that they had actually caught their opponents by surprise. There had only been a token force patrolling the grounds, and the Ronin had taken them out without anyone sounding the alarm. Explosives had been put in place while the wizards got to work. Once they brought down the mystical barriers everyone would_know_ something was up, but until that happened they had been able to perform all of the preparatory work without warning their opponents that they were about to get reamed. She'd never expected they'd be able to do it. The First usually knew when shit like this was coming down, and had her goons ready for them.

Maybe Buffy really was a genius.

And maybe monkeys could fly out of her butt. Snorting to herself, Faith didn't bother pretending _she_ was a genius either. Something else was going on, something she couldn't see. But that wasn't really her concern, and Faith didn't waste too much time thinking about it. Let others worry about the Big Picture. Truth be told, genius or not, Buffy wasn't doing too bad a job of taking care of that 'big picture' all by her lonesome, and she was more than welcome to it. Faith didn't really think of herself as the 'big picture' type. She'd keep her eyes out for possible traps, but in the meantime if the First was giving her a chance to strike the first blow unopposed, she was more than happy to do just that. "You guys ready?"

Glancing over at Andrew 'I Am No Longer A Virgin' Wells, Faith received a nervous looking nod, so glanced over at the girl with the radio. "Do it."

The explosion was muffled by distance, since Faith's command post was more than a hundred meters away from the walls of the compound. Any closer and they'd be out in the open, as any natural cover had long since been bulldozed away. Which meant the Ronin had to be in motion before Andrew confirmed that the wards had been dropped. It was a risk, but here wasn't much they could do about it, so she simply nodded to Grace and China, who both rose without a word and led their groups towards the breaches in the walls. She knew better than to bother the mages, but couldn't help but glance over as they worked their arcane magic, an effulgent thaumaturgic glow emanating from the ball of energy levitating in mid-air in the center of the where the five sorcerers were arrayed in a pentagram. These were by far her most powerful magic-wielders.

Willow could blow away all five of them with a wave of her hand.

Faith had reason to be nervous. She wasn't the only one. Everyone had their asses on the line this time. Everyone knew it. But nobody was backing down. Not even Andrew's retards. She was proud of them. Almost as proud as she was of herself for working the word 'effulgent' into an actual sentence. For just a second, she threw a fond glance towards Spike, who was waiting with Illyria under cover, away from the lethal rays of the setting sun.

She just hoped like hell Buffy came through for them, or it would all be for nothing.

-----

"What in the hell just happened!?"

The slayer on the Security desk flinched at Ms Summers' barked demand. Ms Summers creeped her out at the best of times, and the fact that she didn't know the answer combined with her fear that this was definitely not the 'best of times' caused her to break out in an almost unintelligible stutter. "I-I-I do-o-n't… I-I-I'm unc-c-cert…" That was as far as she got before the oldest slayer grabbed her by the shirt, lifted her up with one hand, and tossed her across the room. Without even turning to see the junior slayer crash into the wall, the Old Lady sat in the now-vacant chair, from there better able to see the monitors and sensors covering the compound grounds. Many of those sensors were flashing an angry red, but the cameras covering those zones were showing nothing but static. It didn't exactly take a rocket surgeon to figure out what was happening though, and the woman calling herself Buffy Summers frowned.

She had told her slayers that the attack had been scheduled for the following morning, just before dawn. Everyone had been ordered to bed, to get a good nights' rest before the Big Show. They had all listened in to the reports from her spies giving times and places and tactics, so everyone had been feeling pretty confident. The First hadn't bothered to tell anyone that her telepathic scans had discovered that a far different plan was actually in progress. To be fair, few among the Ronin had known about the change of plans ahead of time either. The First knew only because one of their opponents, who was part of an organization calling itself the 'SGC,' had turned off his psyionic protection device to let it read his mind. The true plans being formed. The 'deal' being proposed by a Senator named Kinsey.

Ah, well. Surprise, surprise. The First carefully concealed a smile. _It_ hadn't been caught by surprise by the sudden change in plans, but it hadn't turned over that latest Intelligence to her Analysis Group either. _They_ had been completely fooled. The Ronin's deceptions had worked better than they probably expected, and the First had to exert considerable effort not to laugh at the consternation among her senior officers. Fortunately, it had an excuse to hide its amusement behind an invective-filled tirade condemning their incompetence. Even if she didn't plan to sacrifice them for other reasons, the First would have taken great pleasure in slaughtering the bungling fools for not taking simple precautions. Alas, certain expectations needed to be upheld, and the First finally ceased its tirade, despite the enjoyment it was getting out of watching them squirm. "Call out the ready group. I want everyone wearing anti-ballistic amulets, armed, and on the outer line in three minutes! I want…"

Just then, the woman pretending to be Buffy Summers stopped speaking. Not because she wanted to, but because something had happened which prevented it from working her mouth. Something none of its projections had suggested. None of its immense knowledge had warned her was even _possible_. Within seconds her body was shaking so violently she could not even remain seated in the chair. She seemed to go out of phase with the universe, her body shifting at microsecond intervals. The pain was indescribable. The shock was even worse.

The First was getting its first taste of Entropic Cascade Failure.

This, it _hadn't_ foreseen.

It was _not_ happy about it.

------

The old Shakespeare quote about 'sound and fury signifying nothing' passed through Xander's mind as Willow glared at him with all-black eyes and lightning blasted from her extended fingers, hurricane winds whipping her hair into a fury. When she attempted to hurl her energy balls at him in punishment for his insolence, however… _nothing_. The shock of her failure had quite an impact on Willow as her eyes returned to their normal color, surprise and fear and bitterness obvious in her expression. However the display leading up to the misfire had frightened Xander so much he had almost soiled his shorts, and it took him a few seconds to recover his voice. "Umm… you really gotta work on that temper, Will! Accusing me of not growing up and then throwing a tantrum kinda makes you lose all credibility. Even –I'm just speculating here—to yourself."

From her expression Xander knew he was right, and suspected he was getting through to her. He wondered how long it had been since she had been forced to listen to someone saying something she didn't want to hear, her magics nullified, her intimidating powers neutralized for the first time in far too long. "Buffy told me something interesting, something you might identify with. She said that people liked her better when she was younger, when she was cute and funny and happy and brainless because she didn't have a clue about what was really going on. The more she understood about her situation, the less happy she got, and people stopped finding her so funny and cute. You were going through something similar, I suppose, although you were going through so many other changes back then that it wasn't as obvious. The whole 'coming out' thing was a convenient excuse for us to use so we wouldn't have to look at how much you were changing in other ways from the girl we remembered."

He smiled at her, as gently as he could. "You were an awfully _cute_ girl, Will! Sweet and funny and nice… and yeah, you were also a bit of a doormat. We used your talents and never really thanked you enough for all your help. We didn't really notice how much you were changing because, well, we were there to help _Buffy_, not you, and also, 'well' again, because you didn't _tell _us! You were involved with Tara for a _full year_ before you let us know that it was something more than what we all assumed it was. Now I didn't really have a problem with that. If you didn't want to tell us what was happening until you figured it out yourself that was your _right_. But I don't think it's exactly fair for you to insist that _we_ instantly get with the program once we _did_ know what was going on when it took _you_ so long to decide in the first place!"

The accusation make Willow glare at him, her fury at the impotence of her magical abilities obvious. "There you go again! It's all _my_ fault you never bothered to even _look_…!"

Equally frustrated, Xander interrupted. "Dammit Will, it wasn't anyone's '_fault_!' People grow and they change and their friends_adapt_ to that growth and change! We _all_ did! _Everybody_ does! We bent over backwards to accept the changes you were going through, and it was never enough for you…"

"That's not true!!!"

"Dammit Willow, I don't know what you were thinking, or why you did the things you did, but the point is you are_here_ now, and you're too smart not to know where 'here' is, and what it means that you are here! I'm obviously no expert, given that everything I know about psychiatry comes from watching 'Bob Newhart' reruns, but even you must know that something isn't right. Jeezus Will, you tried to _destroy the world_! This is_not_ the normal reaction of someone happy with their life! And why am I talking about this now?! _Dammit_, this isn't going the way I planned it, Will. I'm probably coming across as _attacking_ you, _blaming_ you for everything, and that's _not_ what I wanted to do. I wanted to be your _friend_, the one who you could count on, and who could count on _you_."

He sighed, and moved closer to her, but not so close that he might be considered threatening. Meeting her eyes, he let her see the pain their separation had caused him. "I guess you're not the only one with 'issues' they need to deal with. I'm still kinda bitter over what happened after you came home from England. Instead of talking things over with your friends or with _me_ you jumped into bed with _Kennedy_ of all people, despite having nothing in common with her, because she would tell you that you were strong and wonderful and basically bullshit you so that you wouldn't have to deal with the real problem. I was your _friend_, dammit! You could have come to _me_! You _should_ have come to me!

"_I was your friend_!!"

While none of his other points had gotten through to her, the unconcealed pain in his final cry caused her to wince. She tried to recover, but even she knew that her rebuttal was weak. "You... you just resented her because she was a_girl_! You never got over the fact that I was _gay_!"

"Oh, for crissakes, Will, nobody _cared_ that you were gay! The only 'problem' your _friends_ had with your love life was you sleeping with someone who _didn't_ love you, and was only_taking advantage_ of you, and everyone knew it _but_ you!"

Xander couldn't believe he was almost in tears. He'd thought he'd gotten over this a long time ago. Suddenly facing his best friend after so many years apart, the wound had been torn wide open again, and it hurt as much as it had back when it all first happened. Apparently the feelings were just as raw and painful to Willow, because despite all the farcical cosmetic changes she had undergone, her eyes were as expressive as they had always been. She was hurting as much as he was, but she had been under the influence of the First and Kennedy for so long that she not only couldn't tell the truth from the lies, she wasn't entirely certain if her own memories of those events so long ago were even real. There were gaps in her recollection of certain events, and clear memories which didn't seem to fit in with the disjointed memories of those events.

She'd been warned that Xander Harris possessed a low-level empathic talent which made people trust him even when he was lying, but she couldn't detect such a power, and even if it existed her shields should have been able to filter it out. There was no way he could deceive her… and yet he was. He had to be! What he was saying didn't fit in with the way she remembered things happening, or with the stories Kenn and the Fi… _Buffy_ had told her. He _had_ to be lying! His emotional pain certainly _seemed_ real, but maybe he was a better actor than she remembered.

Unless… he simply _wasn't_ lying. But even if he was telling the truth as he saw it, that didn't mean everyone else saw it the same way. "_No_! Buffy _never_ accepted Tara! She _never_ accepted that I was gay! She tried to break up me and Kennedy…"

The expression on Xander's face, that of an exasperated big brother, had her clamping her teeth together in frustration when he interrupted. "She thought that if you were exclusively 'gay' you never would have fallen in love with a _guy_! C'mon, Will, you _loved_ Oz! You just happened to love Tara _more_! It wasn't because she was a _girl_; it was because she was _Tara_! And Buffy never tried to break up you and Kennedy. _Nobody_ tried to break up you and Kennedy. It's true that we all _wanted_ you to break up, but that was because Kennedy was a _bitch_, not because she was a _girl_!

"The idea that Buffy never accepted Tara is just ridiculous! If it were true, then why was it that practically the very first thing Buffy did when she met your counterpart in that other universe was introduce her to_Tara_?!"

Willow's jaw dropped open in shock. "She did _what_?!?"

It took some effort on Xander's part not to say 'Got'cha!' since he wanted to shout it to the rafters. Neither he nor Buffy had been confident they could get through to Willow after all of the brain-washing she had experienced, but if there was one person who _might_ be able to, it was Tara. And conveniently enough, Buffy's new universe happened to _have_ a Tara. One who had been willing, if not exactly eager, to tape a video letter for an alternate version of her lover. Carefully pulling the disk out from his pocket, making no sudden moves which might shake Willow out of her receptive mood, Xander offered her the DVD, and hoped like hell she had something which could play it on nearby. "The _real_ Buffy was sent to another universe, Will. One with its own 'you' and its own 'me' and its own… _Tara_. Buffy introduced your counterpart to Tara's counterpart, and they hit it off pretty much the way you two did here.

"She sent you a letter. Do you want to see it?"

Even knowing she shouldn't, Willow could no more resist anything connected to Tara than she could resist breathing. It helped that Xander was being so obviously non-threatening, carefully placing the disk on a flat surface, stepping back to remain out of range when she felt herself moving forward to pick it up without ever consciously deciding that she would do so.

He stood, silently observing, as she put the disk into her computer and logged in so that she could play the message from the one person not even the First could ever convince her hadn't been the love of her life.

-----

Keeping her eyes on the guards, Buffy slowly backed away from Kennedy, checking the terrain, seeking out anything she might use to make up for the difference in numbers. Three to one odds against slayers was not a ratio she cared to test. The second Kennedy started spouting off again about how stupid she was, and how the First knew everything, and would stop her pathetic attack soon enough, Buffy was instantly in motion, confident that her speed at least was superior to that of the bodyguards. Perhaps not Kennedy's, which was why she picked one of the larger guards, rolled, twisted the girl's leg to bring her down hard, not to mention acting as an impediment between the other two and Buffy herself, before she was back on her feet and running. The girl whose ankle she had just smashed cried out, barely able to regain her feet. The other two were after her almost instantly, but they hadn't been studying up on _parkour_. Just as the Ronin had been surprised when she introduced it to them, Kennedy and her remaining bodyguard were dumbfounded when Buffy took off like a human pinball, using any convenient pipe or ledge to get out of their range.

Unfortunately slayers were tough, and although the third slayer was limping, she was still around, providing another obstacle to be overcome. Even more unfortunately, Kennedy was almost as good as she thought she was, and even without_parkour_ training she kept Buffy in her sights. No matter how she moved, no matter where she jumped or hid, Kennedy found her. It didn't take Buffy long to realize that there were too many open spaces in the Compound for such evasion techniques to be effective, so changed her plans on the fly. Circling around, she put some distance between the other two in order to re-attack the lame slayer, not even being subtle about it as she ran back, dived low, and took out her knees with sounds of twisted cartilage almost hidden beneath the big girls scream of agony.

It was down to two against one, but Buffy had barely gotten back to her feet in order to escape from the rapidly approaching slayers when she was suddenly paralyzed by the effects of ECF. It had been the only weapon she could actually use directly against the First, but as she quickly discovered, it had a pretty serious downside. Whenever the effect hit the First, it also affected her.

Leaving her completely defenseless when the final bodyguard arrived, running into her with a flying tackle that would have impressed a line coach in the NFL.

-----

It was becoming difficult for the First to function, the physical manifestations of ECF occurring with increasing frequency, separated by shorter intervals. Each time it was more painful, each occurrence requiring a longer period of recovery. With the damned Ronin attacking in force, this was the absolutely worst possible time for the First to be distracted by an idiotic _physical_ disability! She was a _god_, dammit! Such inconveniences were for mere mortals, not for the likes of _her_! It was humiliating, and intolerable, and if she hadn't been in the middle of a damned war the First would have killed her host and jumped into the next body just to be free of such a sacrilege.

Unfortunately there was no way to predetermine who that host would be, or where it would be located. There were no longer any Potentials. Once a girl had the_potential_ to become a slayer, she _became_ a slayer, meaning there was no way to locate a smaller group of girls who might be the next to be Called. There was no point in discarding her present dysfunctional body only to relocate to a better one too far away from Cleveland to affect the outcome of the present battle. The First found this incredibly frustrating. It was quite simply_intolerable_ that the First Evil be placed in such a position! It was _her_ place to put _others_ in such an untenable situation! That was the way things were _meant_ to be!

Between the pain and the sheer humiliation of being caught by surprise it was difficult for the First to concentrate on the needs of supervising the defense of the Compound. It was still too bright outside to unleash the vampires, and her slayers were still logy from being awoken from a sound sleep. The only ones full of energy and snapping orders were the crazy ones who had no clue as to what they were doing or what was needed, but the others were following their counter-productive instructions simply because they didn't know what else to do. The First was trying to sort the mess out, but it was having trouble communicating with those who should be leading the defense. Plus there was the difficulty that its tactics had to be randomized in order to prevent any 'seer' from predicting long-term strategy.

The best way to defeat precognition was to make random decisions each time a choice was required. The First was quite literally flipping a coin when it needed to choose which defensive posture was required, who to send where, what weapons to provide which group. It was a lousy way to fight a battle, causing needless casualties and incurring otherwise preventable local defeats. But over the long term, the First was far more able to overcome a minor problem in a small skirmish than it would be to withstand a surgical strike guided by a precognitive 'vision' of a winnable strategy. Since not even the First knew how it was going to react to changing circumstances, no precog would be able to do so either.

Granted, such a tactic was rather hard on those at the sharp end. Despite overwhelming numerical superiority, her slayers were getting their asses kicked by Ronin who knew exactly where they were and what they were supposed to be doing there. Unfortunately for them, an ancient philosopher had been entirely correct about 'quantity having a quality all its own,' and sheer numbers prevented the Ronin from attaining most of their major objectives. Or, at least, it was delaying them long enough for the First to feel that it could leave it's Command Post after fifteen minutes of intermittent frustrated agony and see if something could be done about the ECF defiling it.

It pointed at a random slayer. "_You_! Get over here!"

The terrified slayer approached tentatively, obviously expecting to be beaten for failing to perform whatever duty she had undoubtedly failed to perform. "_Now_, dammit! I don't have all day! Congratulations! You're in charge of the defense of the Compond!"

Obviously even more terrified of the 'honor' than she had been at the prospect of being punished for some imagined failure, the girl tried to decline the unexpected promotion. "I've never even led a _Team_! I have no idea what I'm supposed to do! This is supposed to be Kennedy's job!!"

The First glared at her, furious at the push-back, already convinced the insolence was due to the loss of respect caused by observing the effects of ECF. "Kennedy is busy. And _her_ job, unlike yours, is critically important. We are facing a seer, which means we want someone running things who doesn't know what the fuck she is doing, and so will make seemingly idiotic –and therefore _unpredictable_—decisions. When in doubt, toss a fucking coin! All you have to do is keep our people moving forward. Tactics be damned.

"I'm going to see if Willow can do something about this… this… _atrocity_! I can't believe they did this to me! _To me_!!"

With that she left the Command Center, grabbed the Scythe from its display case, and made her way out of the building. The battle hadn't reached that deep into the Compound, but it was a long way to Willow's workshop. The Scythe was only partly to provide for self-defense. The Scythe was virtually a manifestation of concentrated power. Power enough, perhaps, to shield her against the effects of ECF. The First doubted that anything else would be powerful enough to combat such a humiliating weapon as had been inflicted on her by these pestilent opponents.

-----

Despite the very prominent sign they'd placed in the middle of the road –'Danger!! Road Mined!!'—the police had ignored it, or not believed it, and paid the price for their stupidity. Well, not too high a price, as the first few mines had been specifically designed _not_ to be strong enough to kill people even in unarmored vehicles. Enough damage had been done to the cars to reduce them to shattered wreckage, however, and convince follow-up forces not to be so stupid. Especially since the mines were the least of their problems.

It didn't take long for heavier forces to arrive. Twenty six minutes from the first explosion was a damned quick response, especially given that those follow-on units included _very_ heavy forces. Armored vehicles from the Ohio National Guard. Combat engineering equipment, of course –a specialized battalion was based in Cleveland—but also tanks. Riley hadn't really expected they'd get M-1's on-site so quickly. Evidently the local government had suspected that if they ever felt the need to take out the Slayers Inc compound it would require main battle tanks, and they'd had them on standby. Which was pretty smart of them, but wouldn't be of much help to them in this case. Not against SGC technology, which included Goa'uld plasma weaponry and Asgard shields.

Riley and his group quickly demonstrated that their more advanced mines could easily take out even the specialized mine-sweeping equipment used by the combat engineering unit. He'd also chosen his ground pretty carefully. This was the only road available, and the terrain on either side was not particularly conducive towards armored tactics. Lots of trees and ravines and rocky obstructions provided ample opportunities for good infantry to delay even the best armored unit. And Riley's troops were very, very good indeed.

After the quick skirmish proved that the mines could also disable even heavy tanks, and a plasma cannon could tear one apart if they tried to go off-road, a frustrated battalion commander suddenly disembarked and walked up to the front of his stalled column. Through the lenses of his binoculars Riley had a very good view of the man, despite the darkness, and realized he was inviting a parley. So far nobody had been killed on either side, and Riley would be just as happy to keep it that way. Talking would delay them just as much as blowing their shit up, so after a quick word to his men he quietly, carefully made his way down to the road, hearing a dozen rifles being cocked as he stood up and they finally saw him.

As he walked towards the opposition commander, Riley could tell the man was shocked by his appearance. Obviously they'd been expecting terrorists, not someone wearing what was unquestionably authentic battle dress uniform, including American insignia. When he was about ten feet away Riley stopped and saluted. "Colonel."

For a second the tall black man looked confused, before finally retuning the salute. "Captain… Finn. Might I ask what in the _hell_ you think you are doing!?"

Strongly suspecting the man wanted to put his question forward a bit more forcefully, Riley appreciated the consideration. "Sir, I am executing Executive Order 211BR. The entity known as the First represents a Clear and Present Danger to our nation and its people. As such, and by the direct order of the President, we intend to stop said entity using any and all means necessary."

"What 'Executive Order!?' My orders come directly from the Pentagon. The President authorized no such action!"

This time it was Riley's turn to look a bit chagrined. "This is where it gets a bit, ah, _complicated_, Colonel. I come from an _alternate universe_. That might sound kind of ridiculous, but it happens to be true. The First represents a threat to _our_ reality as much as it does to yours. _We_ are in a position to do something about that threat. We _intend_ to do so. We will _not_ permit you to interfere with this operation. I assure you, my unit has more than sufficient firepower to ensure that you do not."

Again, there was a pause while the other man considered his words. The fact that he didn't immediately call Riley a loon for claiming to be from another reality, or dispute the fact that they were after the First and not 'Buffy Summers,' suggested pretty strongly that the local military at least had a fairly good idea of what was really going on. But nobody liked it when outsiders invaded their country. No matter their reasons. "You might want to reconsider that, son. I'll have better than thirty tanks here in the next fifteen minutes. Air assets will be in range even sooner. That ray-gun thing might be powerful, but it lights up the entire area every time it's fired. Not exactly a stealthy weapon. The next time it happens, you'll be eating about a dozen laser-guided missiles."

Careful to remain a respectful demeanor, Riley none the less didn't budge. "The cannons are protected by energy shields which can shrug off anything short of a small nuke. My anti-air assets can take out anything flying slower than Mach 5 and lower than 100,000 feet. Most of my stuff you've never seen before, because you haven't met the alien race we took it from. If you're willing to accept catastrophic losses you can probably push us back through attrition, but my unit's sole function is to _delay_ you. We don't have to _beat_ you to accomplish our mission. So even if you do eventually push us back, what would eventually make it through wouldn't stand a chance against our main force attacking the Compound. Think about it, Colonel. Whether you like it or not, this is going to happen. In fact, it's _already happening_! This is where you choose a side."

The older man scowled. Like most soldiers, he didn't like to be threatened. "I've _already_ chosen a side, Captain! _My_ side! The side I swore an oath to, and the side of the people I've sworn to protect. Not to insane god's, and not to 'alternate universe' politicians. You're fighting on _my_ turf, and I don't like it."

Riley couldn't really argue with that. So he didn't. "Then you might want to protect 'your' turf, and not waste your time fighting _us_. Once this is over, we'll be either gone back to where we came from or we'll be dead. Getting rid of us won't be a problem. No, with all due respect sir,_your_ problem is ensuring that the dozen or so nukes you idiots gave to the First only to see deployed in your biggest cities don't light off when we kill the bitch. I'm pretty sure one of those cities is Cleveland. So what _are_ your priorities, Colonel? Fight us and enjoy a pyrrhic victory when your last surviving tank makes it through to the Compound, only to be blown away by our _heavy_ weapons, or prevent a nuclear bomb from blowing your town to hell?"

With that, Riley Finn saluted smartly and returned to his lines.

-----

Not unexpectedly, Tara's message to Willow had been a bit tentative, filled with blushing stutters and embarrassed whispers. Nobody had provided a script, and Tara hadn't known what to say to the all-powerful –and quite possibly psychotic-if-not-downright-_evil_—counterpart to the girl she loved. So mostly she just told the story of how she had been 'kidnapped' by 'her' Willow, and how they had never been apart from the day they met. She told of buying their dilapidated old house, and how 'her' Willow had hired 'their' Xander as a handyman to do the required maintenance. Tara was able to provide a few amusing anecdotes of his experiences attempting to fix the outside wall. Since 'their' Xander hadn't spent years fixing the damage to Buffy's house he had to learn carpentry skills on the fly. Only Buffy's assurances that he would prove to be truly gifted at it persuaded them all to let him keep trying.

It wouldn't have mattered if she had been reading from a phone book. Just the thought that Tara was alive, and happy, and they were together,_somewhere_, shattered Willow more emotionally than anything else could possibly have done. Not even the suspicion that Buffy had known what it would do to her and had gotten them together not because she felt anything for Tara but because it was a way to manipulate Willow couldn't change the fact that the other Willow and Tara had _chosen_ to stay together, no matter the motivations of the person who had introduced them. Buffy could not have _forced_ this Tara to love her Willow. If there was one thing the video make incontestably clear, the girl absolutely _adored_ her Willow.

There was nothing else she could have done which would have affected Willow more. The tears streaming down her face felt almost _good_, felt _real_, a far cry from the lie that had been her life for the past decade. Although she was a bit jealous of her counterpart, a much bigger part of her was grateful that Tara was with someone like her younger, more innocent self, someone not tainted by the lies and warped behavior which had forced Tara to leave her so long ago. More than almost anything in her life she wanted to touch Tara one more time. But even more than that, she didn't want someone like the person she had become to touch the Tara she could see on the screen.

When she looked up at Xander, she was defenseless. The most powerful witch in millennia, she could have been effortlessly defeated by a young man with no power but the truth, no special talent except the ability to see into someone's soul. He had beaten her –utterly, thoroughly, without ever even touching her—yet he didn't take advantage of his victory. Nor, she knew, would he. Even she could finally see the truth. To Xander this had never been about 'beating' her. This was all about _helping his friend_. To him this was far more important than the First and its insane ambitions, or even Buffy and her need for vengeance.

Desperately wanting to go to her and offer what comfort he could, Xander none the less was able to summon the self-control to stay back, to let her make the first move. Willow had been through too much, her mental state was too precarious, and he didn't want to do anything which might possibly be misinterpreted as threatening. It took some time, but finally she _was_ able to make that first move, raising her tear-stained face, looking at him with shattered, haunted eyes, and held out her arms. Only then did Xander approach her, wrapping her in his own strong arms, squeezing her tightly, not even noticing the tears on his own face. Neither knew how long they maintained the embrace until they were interrupted by a strange voice.

"How _touching_." Neither of them had heard the First arrive, basking in the comfort of a friendship restored. Instantly releasing Willow and almost jumping away from her, Xander glanced at the tiny woman, suddenly more terrified than he had ever been in his life. Now that he had spent some time with the 'real' Buffy, he wondered how he could ever have thought this caricature could have possibly been his friend. The malevolent maliciousness in her eyes was so obvious he wondered how anyone could not see it. This was five feet two inches of pure concentrated _evil_, and she scared him shitless.

As usual when confronted by a creature from his nightmares, Xander tried to hide his fear under the false bravado of sarcasm. "Uhm… hello, uh, Miss First. Or should that be Ms _Evil_? I hope you haven't received a PhD, because even under these circumstances I couldn't go there with a straight face…"

The glare she shot at him froze him as surely as if she were Medusa. It wasn't a mystical power. It was the look of such sheer venomous viciousness which paralyzed Xander's throat and made him weak at the knees. When she turned those eyes on Willow he feared for his friends' life, but was able to rather frantically reassure himself that even as messed up as she was, Willow was far more able to take care of herself than he was. She was able to meet the First's eyes without flinching. Something the First was quite obviously _not_ happy about. "How many years have we been together, Willow? Yet the first sign of trouble, you turn against me. You really are a despicable person No wonder Tara left you. You have no loyalty, no trust, and no faith in me or our love!"

It was a hard accusation to defend against, because Willow no longer had _any_ 'faith in her or their love.' "We don't have a relationship based on 'love,' Buffy. Or whatever your name _really_ is! We're occasional 'fuck buddies,' and I was an idiot to think we were ever anything more!"

The other woman looked offended, and tried to look hurt, but Willow wasn't as deluded as she had been even a few minutes earlier and could easily detect the murderous fury behind the phony mask. "I practically devoted my entire life to your happiness, to providing you with the things you wanted most, and _this_ is how you repay me! You're so _selfish_! You think only about yourself, never about how much we…"

The girl who looked a bit like Buffy was well on her way to bringing up the whole 'loyalty' rant which had always made Willow feel so guilty that she did anything asked of her just to 'prove' her devotion, only this time she wasn't buying it. Not with the tape fresh in her mind. Tara had _never_ demanded that she 'prove' her love! She had never need to. Nor had Tara ever tried to manipulate her with sex. It astonished Willow that she had been so foolish, for so long. She knew what a _real_ partnership was like. Whatever it was she shared with this person, it was neither a partnership, nor a relationship, nor anything even close to something which contained the word 'love.' "Put a sock in it, _bitch_. Game over. You're no Tara. You could _never_ be Tara!"

The expression of such unadulterated fury on her face froze Willow in her tracks. Not so Xander. He'd seen a similar expression before. On the face of his father, in a drunken rage He knew what was about to happen with a certainty no slayer would ever put in their own prophetic Dreams, and acted instinctively, without pausing to even consider the wisdom of his actions. Willow was his _friend_, and needed to be protected from the drunken rage of his long-gone father. The way she had once protected him.

Leaping over towards Willow with a speed that could be beaten only by a slayer, he smashed into his friend just as the Scythe, thrown with the sort of accuracy and power only a slayer could provide, arrived at the point where her chest would have been a fraction of a second earlier. A point where Xander's chest occupied at exactly the wrong moment. The metal of the Scythe could cut through _anything_

. The flesh and bone of his left arm didn't even slow it down. Eight ribs were cleaved neatly in two. By some miracle the blade didn't penetrate all the way to his heart, but that only meant he was going to bleed to death as his chest cavity was exposed to air instead of dying instantly.

"_Xander! _!" Willow's cry of horror and outrage was loud enough to break glass. She had stumbled when Xander pushed her aside, and frantically crawled back over to where he lay, white as a ghost, clearly in shock as blood began to pool around him. Sparing one murderous glance up towards the First –who was looking at them both with a wide-eyed expression of amazement, and slowing dawning fear—Willow could feel her eyes turn black as she summoned the sort of magics she hadn't touched since she went off the deep end following Tara's murder. She could feel herself reacting the exact same way, for the exact same reason, and it felt _good_. Like she was _powerful_, instead of completely _useless_ as she frantically tried to stem the flow of blood soaking the floor around her best friend.

The First took one look at her face and ran like hell. For the very first time Willow saw genuine fear in the First's normally arrogantly disdainful visage. She could feel the magics surrounding her, responding to her summons, cracking the air with a kind of static electricity, more sensed than felt but all too real. Raw _power_ filled the air, power enough to move mountains… but not enough power to save the life of a man brutally injured by _natural_ means. The rules of magic were complex, and Xander was not the sort of man who would either consent to or even appreciate the price it would take to save him, even if the alternative was death. Xander had been around slayers long enough to know there were things _far_ worse than death.

Despite the shock setting in –or perhaps because of it—Xander was able to meet her eyes, and smile as if he knew everything she was thinking. Maybe he did. Blood began flowing from his lips, foam-flecked as even more blood began filling his severed lung. "No, Will. Don't even… think it…"

Tears flowed freely as Willow struggled to stench the flow of blood around the Scythe, knowing nothing could be done, horrified at the thought of what was now inevitable. "Xan… no… _please_!!"

He raised a shaking hand, leaving a trail of blood as he gently caressed her mouth. "Set up… personal shield. Buffy… will think… you… did it"

For just a second her old arrogance came to the fore, and she almost sneered. "This building is _impregnable_! There's nothing any _slayer_ could do…" She stopped, horrified at the idiocy of what she was saying at such a time. "Xan… let me try a suspended animation spell! Maybe, if we try…"

He moved his finger to her lips, silencing her. "You'd be… surprised… at what she… can do. Even… to _you_. Shields. _Now_! Then… use Scythe to end… Activation spell."

"No! We need to do the suspended animation spell!"

"No… time. Too many lives… at stake. End spell… please Will… for me."

She was crying and covered in blood and Xander was dying in front of her and there was nothing she could do… "Xander… _please_!!!!"

"Love you… Will. Always were my… best… friend."

Willow was powerful enough to sense the soul as it left the body. When Xander's magnificent soul departed, it was like her heart was being torn from her chest. Her scream of pain and loneliness and horror should have shaken the entire world with the depth of its agony.

-----

Usually Buffy was pretty cocky, believing that she was good enough to take on two-against-one odds against any opponent. This was no longer true. At least, it wasn't true when she was left vulnerable for several seconds every few minutes when the ECF left her paralyzed. Twice now they'd gotten to her during that vulnerable moment. Both times they'd hit her hard enough to leave her screaming in agony, unable to fight back, barely able to get away from them once the effect passed.

It didn't help that for all her ego and bitchiness, Kennedy could back it up when push came to shove, and with a huge bodyguard around to lend non-trivial assistance Buffy was being hard-pressed to simply defend herself even discounting the effects of ECF. But Buffy wasn't exactly chopped liver when it came to martial arts either, and during the intervals between manifestations of the effect, she'd landed more than a few blows of her own. Of the three of them the bodyguard had actually taken the most damage, but she was also the one big enough and strong enough to be able to take the most damage and keep coming back for more. Simply in order to survive Buffy had been forced to give ground, moving further and further away from both Willow's lair and the Portal facility. If it kept up much longer, there was no way she could win.

It helped that Sam had fully briefed her on all known aspects of Entropic Cascade Failure, so Buffy had been able to plan her tactics around it. Knowing what to expect and exactly when it would happen, she was able to ensure that she was somewhere difficult for them to reach when it hit, so it took her opponents some time to locate her and dig her out. Usually by the time they got to her the effect had already begun to abate, and she hadn't been entirely defenseless. So far she had been lucky, but it was only a matter of time until she would be unable to defend herself as the intervals between attacks grew shorter and the effort more intense.

Buffy knew that she was in seriously deep shit and should be concentrating on her immediate problem, but couldn't help but be distracted by the other events going on all around her. Things were _not_ going according to plan. Kennedy showing up had never been part of the plan, and the longer she remained on Buffy's case, the more the plan was derailed. Putting things to right was still_possible_, but became ever more difficult with every passing minute. Buffy knew she was beginning to panic, and had good reason to be concerned.

If Xander was able to talk Willow into shutting down the spell, the plan had called for Buffy to escort the two of them to wherever the Scythe was being held. It was assumed that Willow would know, and if not it was hoped that they would be able to find it. Now far from the fighting and the places she needed to be, Buffy was beginning to realize that she stood little chance of being able to provide any support to Xander. That, in itself, wasn't a show-stopper. He would know what to do, and if Willow said she would help them she was more than strong enough to retrieve the Scythe even without a slayer acting as bodyguard. But that would leave Buffy herself out in the cold, unable to affect subsequent events. That was not the way things were meant to happen, and Buffy was getting pretty nervous about the state of her once-perfect plan. Even more nervous than she was about figuring out how to get away from two powerful opponents when she was becoming increasingly incapacitated.

What neither Dawn, the Ronin, nor the SGC realized was that for the past few nights her visions had been disconcertingly useless. Buffy even knew why. The First was doing something to make her prophetic talent useless. The exact same event would be shown multiple times in her dreams, each time with a different outcome. It wasn't only the Dreams that were useless. Even a 'best guess' was of no value since the result of any action appeared to be dependent on completely random factors. With everyone counting on her prophetic visions to lead them to victory, Buffy hadn't told anyone that those visions were now no more reliable than tossing a dice.

She hadn't actually _lied_ to anyone, merely not told them the entire truth, and strangely enough the Ronin would probably be thinking that she was a genius right about then as their opponents made seemingly idiotic tactical decisions. Despite being severely outnumbered it was obvious even at her distance from the main lines that the Ronin were pushing back their opponents, destroying outlying buildings, and neutralizing the nuclear depot. The more things went their way, the more confidence they would have in Buffy and her unbeatable plan… without realizing that Buffy no longer had the slightest clue what was happening. Everything was now dependent on _Jack's_ plan, because hers was off the rails.

All too soon Buffy was far too busy fighting off Kennedy and her dangerously tough bodyguard to worry about the overall battle when something happened which made it impossible _not_ to realize that everything she had worked for was about to crash down like a house of cards. Dawn had managed to get a missile through to the Compound, once, and a lot of planning had gone in to duplicating such a feat. It had turned out that there was a way it could be done, again as a one-time-only gesture, and everyone had agreed that it should only be attempted if there was a catastrophic breakdown in the plan. A breakdown caused by Willow refusing to help them.

They would know that was the case if she killed Xander.

The missile would only be triggered in the event of Xander's death. _Only_ Xander's death would trigger the missile. Nothing else would do it, and the fact that the missile_had_ been triggered could only mean one thing.

Willow was good with computers, but she wasn't as good as her counterpart in the other universe, and wasn't even in the same league as her counterpart and Samantha Carter working together. The disk with Tara's message had also contained a Trojan. With literally months to refine it, the programs' creators were all but certain it would be able to bypass all of Slayers Inc.'s network security and lower the missile defenses protecting the Compound. Both were equally certain those defenses would not remain down for very long. But if Willow killed whoever brought her the video, it would be a pretty good hint that the witch was not going to change her allegiance and help them out. Opinion was unanimous that they could not afford to have such a powerful individual working for the enemy.

The missile was followed by a trail of flame, visible for miles in the dusky sky. It went straight up, turned around, and aimed itself directly at Willow's lair. The noise of the battle faded as people paused to watch, most likely expecting it would be effortlessly destroyed by the local defenses. Instead it drove straight down, unimpeded, detonating in a thunderously loud explosion which knocked Buffy and her momentarily-distracted opponents down even though they were a hundred meters from ground zero. All three of them looked at each other in shock as the concussive wave passed, each stunned for different reasons. The guard amazed that the missile had gotten through at all. Kennedy shocked that her lover had just been killed.

And Buffy…

It was the end of _everything_ for Buffy. Along with the explosion, recognition had set in that she had failed. All of her plans and ambitions had come to nothing. Her need to avenge herself had just cost the lives of her two best friends… and it was all for _nothing_. There was no way she could fix this. She'd have to escape from Kennedy, find the Scythe, steal it, and make her way through the massed ranks of slayers presently fighting all-out war, just get it to Andrew and his wizards. Then _they_ would have to figure out if they could undo whatever it was Willow did to create the spell in the first place. _It couldn't be done_! No matter how dumb their tactics, a three-to-one advantage in slayers meant the Ronin would sooner-or-later be thrown back. No matter how good the SGC weapons, they would not be enough to stop more than a thousand furious slayers.

It was over. Buffy felt herself slump in exhaustion and bitter defeat. She had failed. Completely. Oh, she'd still _try_! She had nothing to lose by giving it her best effort. But it didn't take any psychic powers to know that she would inevitably fail. If the visions didn't work, then no strategy or tactical ability she possessed would be enough to overcome the First's advantages. It would win, and it would kill everyone, and she had failed everyone who had ever believed in her, everyone who had placed their trust in her. Buffy tried to work up the energy to get up off the ground, to escape from Kennedy, who was just as distracted, staring at the shattered wreckage of her girlfriends Lair with an expression of shock on her pretty face.

Buffy was about to use her distraction to get up and start running on her final, _futile_, mission when she realized that Kennedy wasn't staring at the wreckage… she was staring at something emerging _from_ the wreckage.

Tons of rubble and burning flames shifted aside as if pushed by a titanic force emerging from below. Underneath it all appeared a figure. Something human. Hurt, bleeding, eyes black as obsidian. Holding the Scythe in both hands.

Willow was _alive_! And boy, was she_pissed_!

----

As the First scurried from the emotionally devastated --and soon-to-be-absolutely_livid_-- witches' lair, it took a moment to consider the problem it had been working on ever since it had become corporeal. The whole point of trapping itself in such a fleshy shell had been to gain access to the tools it would need to destabilize this accursed abomination of a universe. To achieve such a goal it needed both the Key, and a way to _deliver_ the Key to a very specific dimension. Those goals seemed mutually opposing to those of less vision than the First. A god had sufficient power to gain access to that dimension, but a god would be unable to bring the Key. While corporeal, she could gain control of the Key, but would lack the power to gain access to that distant dimension.

There was only one corporeal race with access to the required power, simply due to the 'magical' reserves which made the universe containing the Hellmouth so unique. Unfortunately it had required the full energies of the Sunnydale Hellmouth to bring the First to corporeality, leaving nothing to open the portal. Only a Hellmouth contained the required power. There were other Hellmouths besides the one in Sunnydale, but they were useless, their titanic energy reserves contained by powerful mystical wards. All Hellmouths led to the same place, could access the same source of power, but were capped by barriers placed over them by a powerful race of ancient gods who had died or left long before humans arose. What separated Sunnydale from all other Hellmouths was the weakness of its barrier. The weaker the barrier, the more unstable the Hellmouth, meaning far less power had been required to destabilize it and liberate its titanic energy reserves.

Mystical power was required to destabilize a Hellmouth. Opening the Sunnydale Hellmouth had required the sacrifice of a hundred thousand Turok-han, or thirty slayers. Sunnydale had been at least _fifty times_ weaker than its relatively rock-solid Cleveland counterpart. It would require the slaughter of_five million_ Turok-han to destabilize it… or at least _1500_ slayers. This was the equivalent of 300 years worth of slayers, and the First wasn't willing to wait three centuries to fulfill its destiny.

But there was another way.

It could bring _all_ of those 300 years worth of slayers to the _present_. All alive, all at the same time. The demon powering the slayer wouldn't care. It didn't understand even the _concept_ of time. Tricking it was easy.

Sacrificing 1500 slayers was a bit more difficult.

The only corporeal meat life-form with the magical mojo to perform such a spell was Willow Rosenberg, who would almost certainly refuse to do so. Corporeal herself, the First would be unable to _force_ her to sacrifice so many girls. But Willow Rosenberg was weak, easily manipulated, arrogant in her power and quick to anger. If she was psychologically manipulated over an extended period of time, and then finally came to _realize_ that she was being _deliberately_ manipulated, her rage would be nothing short of apocalyptic. She would exact revenge by performing the one spell her friends had demanded of her, the same spell her enemies had spent years telling her was forbidden.

She would revoke the Activation Spell.

Interestingly, the 'sacrifice' required to open a Hellmouth didn't necessarily _require_ that someone die. Normally the only way to remove the aspect of the slayer from the girl who was Called involved her demise, it was true. But it_wasn't_ a necessary prerequisite. A spell which accomplished the same thing without killing the host would work just as well.

The First was probably the only slayer to smile triumphantly as she 'felt' the end result of Willow's rage rip the slayer aspect from her with a sensation little short of agony. Nearly 1800 girls would suddenly be feeling weak, disjointed, powerless. All of that titanic magical energy suddenly released by their 'sacrifice' would be instantly channeled by the First's carefully-prepared devices. Confined, concentrated, manipulated into a needle of stupendous mystical power. Targeted at the weakest point of the otherwise-stable Cleveland Hellmouth.

It was almost exactly like putting a match to a balloon filled with hydrogen. The stupendous energies which were the combined aspects of 1800 slayers slammed into the Hellmouth with enough power to blow a hole in the ground the size of the Sunnydale crater. That was only a pale fraction of the subsequent titanic burst of raw mystical power as the wards confining the Cleveland Hellmouth abruptly failed, released inconceivable energies from the hellish dimension it directly tapped. Unrestrained, that energy would have been sufficient to knock a significant fraction of the North American continent out to the orbit of Neptune. Trapped, confined by mystical conduits leading into the First's lab, that power instead slammed into immaterial storage systems and more tangible generators with enough sheer dynamic force to _rip a hole in the universe_.

It wasn't like the StarGate. What appeared within that portal was _unnatural_, something not meant to be. Anyone observing it would notice that it spun and twisted with nauseous black and blue and grey colors like a raw wound in space and time, the shrieking wail of air being sucked into the twisting vortex sounding almost like a scream of agony. This was the scientific counterpart to the blackest of black magic; something _evil_, something never meant to see the light of day.

But as 'wrong' as it was, this was not the final destination the First required from its Portal. That extra-universal dimension was even further that the full power output of the Cleveland Hellmouth could reach, and was protected by barriers comprised of arcane energies. Neither magic nor science could penetrate that final barrier. Doing so would require something else. Something special.

Something… _god-like_.

The plan had called for Jasmine to be the sacrificial lamb. She would have been conveniently located in LA with her collection of millions of human sheep already prepared to act as worshippers, all under the watchful eye of the Senior Partners, but Jasmine had failed. Fortunately for the First, anyone of roughly equivalent power would do. Even more fortunately, someone of roughly equivalent power just happened to be available.

Once that final lock was unsealed, the last walls would be breached, the portal would open, and the Key would at long last fulfill its original function.

The universe would revert to its old form. The way it should have always been.

The way it would be again.

Because just like with Willow, Buffy Summers was unknowingly providing the First with all the tools it needed to get the job done. Tools it never would have been able to get by itself. Performing tasks those tools never would have performed had they been ordered to do so by the First.

Even knowing that cackling laughter was somewhat clichéd for someone in its position, the First couldn't help but express its malicious glee. It sooooo loved it when things worked out _exactly_ according to plan.


	25. Chapter 24

Chapter 23 

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

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**Return To Normal**

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**Chapter Twenty Four**

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Jack O'Neill loved kids the way other men loved carpentry, or fixing cars, or a good hand in poker. To his way of thinking they were ephemeral, abstract, something to be appreciated from a distance but never, _ever_ permitted to achieve a significant emotional impact. He honestly loved children, and considered their protection to be the highest calling any man might seek to achieve. No doctor who saved a child's life would ever have to pay for a drink while in his vicinity, and no alien despot who harmed a child would ever be safe from his inexorable wrath. Since the death of his son, however, those feelings had been carefully controlled, reserved for 'children' in the abstract sense. He no longer had a son these principles might apply to directly. He never would again.

Losing Charlie still caused him barely endurable pain. The intense grief of losing his son had caused him to seriously consider taking his own life, and later to accept suicidal assignments which might give him a chance to die with the kind of honor he no longer believed he was entitled to. Over the years things had gotten, if not exactly better, then more manageable, the despair fading to melancholia, the depression hidden behind a more socially-acceptable sarcastic cynicism. Only his closest friends would notice his emotional brittleness around kids these days, and know why he didn't let them get too close.

Jack O'Neill was never asked to play Santa Claus at Christmas parties.

Only his closest friends knew why.

Before she left with the hand-picked force which would attack the Portal Facility, Sam Carter paused, and looked directly into her superior officer's eyes, holding them with a gaze they tried not to use around each other. They wanted to work together, and that work was so important nothing could be permitted to come before it. But when nearly two thousand young women and girls were involved in a battle which was about to become increasingly bloody Carter couldn't help but be concerned. Worried in a way that wasn't entirely professional. Not a word was spoken, but much was communicated; concern, reassurance, compassion, gratitude. Carter smiled in acknowledgement as she moved out with her group, the swift glance missed by everyone else, the momentary, silent exchange virtually encapsulating their entire relationship. 

The fact that so much could _not_ be said.

The fact that so much was none the less _communicated_.

As she turned away without a backwards glance, Sam Carter knew that her friend would survive what was about to happen. He wouldn't _like_ it, and like the rest of them his dreams would be haunted for some time to come once it was all over. But he, like the rest of them, knew what was at stake. Knew that some things were worth fighting for. Knew that when you fought over something, people were going to get hurt. Usually they tried to keep the women and children out of it. That was part of their moral code, a fundamental part of the psychological underpinning of their societal image. In this case the women and children were the ones who were going to be doing the majority of the fighting, and it wasn't something any of them embraced with glee, congratulating themselves on their enlightened non-sexist attitudes. This was simply _necessary_, and they would deal with the aftermath once it was over as well as they could.

Carter had no real problem working with Ash Fenton, despite the fact that he was a sexist jerk who was quite simply incapable of looking at her as an officer in the US Air Force. To Ash she would always be a woman first, and a soldier second… maybe third, since he had a grudging respect for scientists, and a not-so-grudging respect for her work as a scientist. It was tough to be indignantly angry with a man who was unquestionably ready to take a bullet for her, but Carter _did_ mildly resent the fact that he refused to recognize that she didn't _want_ anyone to die for her. All her life she'd been treated as someone 'special.' Smarter, prettier in her younger days, more athletic, more competent than just about anyone else around her. A rare jewel to be admired and protected. It made her want to scream with frustration. She _wasn't_ better than other people! She wanted use her skills to protect _them_ from whatever evil lurked in the shadows!

She often wondered what her life might have been like had the StarGate not dropped into her lap like a gift from Heaven. It had offered her a chance to use all of her formidable skills to _save the entire world from alien enemies_! This was not a job for a 'rare jewel' or a pampered princess. This was a deadly serious and seriously deadly job being fought in the shadows by the most serious, most deadly warriors in the known universe. And she was one of them.

If only Colonel Fenton would realize that.

----

Already Fenton's men were surrounding her in a protective cordon as they penetrated deeper into the Compound. Trying not to openly grit her teeth in frustrated annoyance, Carter couldn't help but recall that these same men had quite cheerfully tried to hunt down and 'kill' Buffy Summers during innumerable exercises. Not one of them would have even _considered_ getting in _her_ way out of some misguided sexist notion of 'protecting' her. Part of it was because Buffy's incredible gifts did not threaten them. Her special abilities were the result of _magic_, not inherent skill, so could be dismissed as an 'unfair,' not to mention unrealistic standard to which they could only measure their own deadly talents. 

Carter recognized that there was another reason they could laugh and joke with Buffy but could not with her. Unlike Carter, Buffy was _not_ in the military, and had absolutely no interest in joining up. Not being one of them, she did not _threaten_ them in any way. In many ways they were comfortable with her because she was so good at what she did: but what she did wasn't what _they_ did. They were _soldiers_; she was _not_. She was a _slayer_, which meant she had a very specific job to do. So long as she confined herself to handling that job, there was no conflict. Should she decide to branch out into areas were not within her particular mandate, however, things had the potential to get interesting. Since anyone charged with the task of taking down someone like her who had gone 'rogue' would have to be the very best, her incredible abilities reinforced their own perceptions of themselves as the 'best of the best.'

Unlike Buffy however, Carter was 100 human, and it would bother them a great deal if she proved herself 'better' than them at their chosen profession. They were okay with her being smarter, but each of them thought they would have made a good ninja, and no egghead was going to show them up. Carter threatened their self-image in a way Buffy never would.

For the first part of the mission they were accompanied by a protective escort of eight slayers, all of whom could have taught even ninjas a thing or two about silent infiltration. The men didn't know these girls and didn't look at them with the respect they accorded Buffy, but Fenton had come up with a pretty good motive to have them along even if they did threaten their masculinity. If any of the opposing slayers showed up unexpectedly he'd much rather _their_ slayers do their 'kung-fu' shit on them, rather than have his people blow away teenage girls with their silenced P90's. Everyone agreed, and was pleasantly surprised when they turned out not to be needed. The initial stages of the attack had gone so well that opposition forces hadn't even covered their avenue of approach, too busy trying to push back the main –although actually diversionary—Ronin salient thrusting in from the western wall.

There were slayers defending the Portal Facility, an ugly block of a building located next to the largest structure in the Compound, where dozens of opposition slayers could be seen running around, yelling incoherently, and in general giving a very good impression of being completely out of their depth and incapable of figuring out what they were supposed to do. Fenton wasn't surprised. Fighting skill alone did not a soldier make. With little training or inherent talent, when they were forced to adapt most slayers simply were not capable of making the required mental adjustments. Truth be told, ninjas had sucked as soldiers too. 

Faith had briefed their escort very carefully, and without a word being said they scattered to silently take down each of the guards, where they would remain in their place until they were inevitably challenged. This allowed Fenton and his group to get close enough to study the building in hopes of figuring out a way in. 'Fortress' didn't do it justice. The structure was built of steel-reinforced concrete with walls five feet thick. These were further enhanced by mystical wards none of the SGC tools could crack.

Nothing they had short of Illyria at full throttle would be able to open it. It had been hoped they wouldn't have to bring in their Big Gun just for this purpose, but it had always been considered a possibility. They were a good ten minutes ahead of schedule, even though they'd gone to great effort to hold back the excited Ronin who wanted to exploit their unexpected advantage, but it wouldn't be long before the vampires and demon clans were unleashed. The fact that the opposition had been caught completely by surprise, and their initial defensive efforts had proven to be so incompetently executed, had come as a pleasant surprise to the attackers. No one thought the same would be true for those supernatural beasts. Fenton had spent a lot of time with his group working on their anti-vampire tactics, which would exploit the fact that he didn't give a flying fuck if they 'didn't respect' anyone who used modern weaponry. Those who survived what he planned on dropping on their undead asses would learn a whole new meaning for the word 'respect.'

A quick inspection of the massive armored door made it pretty clear they wouldn't be able to bypass the locking system using any of their fancy toys. Between the mystical wards and the sheer strength of the materials, even the powerful explosives they had brought along with them were unlikely to so much as scratch the paint. Not to mention that using them would attract too much attention, and they were now far too deep inside enemy territory to have much chance of escaping if they were discovered. Their choices were rather limited. They could use the Mutari-thing to endow Illyria with some kind of magical uber-viagra to return her flaccid powers to their full youthful god-like vitality and vigor, and she would almost certainly be able to get them inside the building one way or another. But with no sign of the First, and the ancient god-king-queen-lizard-whatever having a hard limit on her period of tumescent glory once fully erect, so to speak, they wouldn't be able to accomplish much beyond destroying the portal itself. The First could rebuild it, and they would be pretty much fucked.

Option Two wasn't much better, but was the one they were going with anyway. Silently, using only hand signals, Fenton ordered his people to spread out and conceal themselves. He didn't like that. There weren't many places to hide, and even stripped down to bare minimum the assault team was bigger than he'd have liked. Besides him there were four of his best men, Major Carter as head geek, Dawn Summers to translate anything they found that might tell them how to shut down the portal, a goddamn _vampire_ accompanying her because her people believed he was mentioned in some kind of half-assed _prophesy_, and one of Riley Finn's men, Lt. Forrest Gates, who had more time on station than anyone else so was his local expert.

It wasn't that Fenton didn't trust the slayers… it was just that he trusted his own people a helluva lot more. He sure as hell didn't trust the fucking _vampire_! But when you added everyone up, it was more likely than not that someone would be detected before the First arrived. Fenton was in no mood to risk either his or his people's collective asses just to delay the inevitable for a few weeks. He didn't know what Buffy had in mind, but knew that she wasn't interested in anything which didn't leave the First a seriously dead corpse, one preferably with head and entrails spread to the four winds, and he intended to cut her all the slack she would need to accomplish such a satisfying outcome.

----

Running from Willow's Lair, the First noticed the alternate-Buffy facing off against Kennedy and one of her bodyguards, but didn't pause to offer assistance. Taking care of Buffy was Kennedy's job, although it didn't really matter to the First whether or not she succeeded. All that was necessary was that she divert the seer from concentrating on the visions which might give her enemies a viable plan to disrupt the First's own grand scheme. The whole point of going after Rupert Giles in the first place had been to ensure that Buffy built up such an overwhelming hatred of Kennedy that she would be diverted from her primary duty, no matter how important that mission was, just for the opportunity to get her hands around Kennedy's throat. That part of the First's plan, as with most of the others, appeared to be succeeding admirably.

Seconds later the First got an up-close-and-personal look at what happened when things didn't go according to plan when a missile took out the Lair with a devastating explosion which knocked her flying. For long seconds she scrambled around, trying to regain her feet, watching in horror as the Lair was completely annihilated. For a minute or two she didn't even consider the indignity of the failure of her defensive systems, such minor concerns buried under her apparent miscalculation that her enemies wouldn't target Willow, and couldn't succeed in getting through to her even if they did. Willow wasn't absolutely critical to the overall plan –there were other ways to sacrifice 1500 slayers, although they all involved a lot more bloodshed than using Willow to do it would entail—but that momentary concern was alleviated seconds later when Willow emerged from the wreckage.

So far as the First was concerned, the actual de-powering spell was rather anti-climactic. It was already operating so many orders of magnitude below its 'normal' abilities that losing a few minor tweaks to the host's native capacity regarding strength and speed were relatively trivial. It was underestimating Buffy that caused the First a momentary twinge of concern. It hadn't expected the pathetic human to actually try to _kill_ Willow, and certainly had never expected her to come close to _succeeding_! Even if it hadn't been her idea to do so, the fact that she was willing to listen to competent people and follow their suggestions was unexpected. Not that the First expected her to amount to much of a challenge, even if she did manage to eke out a few minor tactical victories, but it hadn't expected to suffer the effects of ECF either. One of the reasons the First was devoting so much in the way of resources to fighting a precog was that it did not wish to be caught by such surprises.

Between its own relative weakness and occasional attacks of ECF it took the First much longer than usual to reach the Command Center, where now-ex-slayers were freaking out over their unexpected return to the human average. Many, as they had been conditioned to do, turned to her for orders, unwilling to act on their own initiative despite the obvious implications of their situation. The First immediately proceeded to issue a string of orders to deploy those remaining loyal forces, acting so calm and decisive that most of them instinctively rushed to obey. Few paused to consider those orders, or realize they were intended to leave them vulnerable to the vampires the First was about to unleash, which would force the invaders to expend resources to save them. The First had long since noticed that the 'good guys' tended to respond with such counter-productive measures in order to maintain their self-image, even when it would be far more effective for them to concentrate on their own business and leave such idiots to their fate.

Which was one out of several thousand reasons why the First figured only imbeciles fought for the 'good' side. 'Enlightened self interest' was a much better motivator. Emphasis on the 'self-interest' part.

More to keep the enemy occupied than out of any actual desire to achieve anything productive, the First sat into its Control station and enabled codes it had set up for just such an eventuality. One of the reasons it had put such extensive efforts into gaining political control was to be able to act quickly when this particular moment arrived. Special 'disaster' protocols were enabled, convincing DOD computers that Cleveland was being overrun by the hordes of Hell. Missiles were launched. Aircraft were scrambled. Contingency plans were activated.

Not to mention that every ten minutes, another city would disappear in a ghastly burst of nuclear fire.

----

For several long seconds they all stood still, looking towards Willow, each wondering what the witch intended to do. After just being walloped by a rather impressive missile Buffy figured Will wouldn't be too happy with her, even discounting the terrible reason that missile had been triggered in the first place. Given that they were still occasional bedmates, Kennedy had more reason to hope that she still had some influence with the witch, although it made her a bit nervous to realize that Willow had just revoked the Activation spell without even discussing it with her first. It was a pretty clear indication that Willow wasn't especially happy with her either. So after first shouting at her remaining bodyguard "_Grab her_!" with a nod towards a stunned-looking Buffy, Kennedy slowly made her way over towards where the girl stood, bleeding from multiple lacerations, in the still-burning wreckage of what minutes earlier had been her seemingly-impregnable Lair.

The bodyguard was big, but not too bright, and hadn't come to terms with the fact that she no longer had slayer powers. Or perhaps she simply realized that neither did Buffy, and given their size disparity the tiny girl didn't appear to represent much of a threat. She never had the time to understand that Buffy had been through this before, and had gone to considerable effort the last time she awoke without slayer powers to develop a self-defense regime suitable for someone of her size and athletic abilities. Big as she was, the bodyguard's arms were not as strong as Buffy's legs, and a full-power kick suddenly smashed into her abdomen with enough force to knock the wind out of her. That kick would barely have been noticed by a slayer. But since she no longer was a slayer, the girl lost her balance and went down, gasping for breath, not even seeing the follow-up kick that smashed into her jaw hard enough to knock her out cold.

Knowing that if Willow turned against her she was doomed, and even if she didn't actually help Kennedy hunt her down the effects of ECF would soon overwhelm her, Buffy turned and ran. Seeking out the shadows, she searched for somewhere to hide until either the attack was over or the First entered the Portal and ended it all permanently. Without her own slayer powers she no longer possessed her previously amazing _parkour_ skills, but she did have her own inherent natural athletic talent, and managed to climb up the side of a small, flat-roofed building just before she was overcome by the violent, uncontrollable shaking which signified the onset of an ECF attack.

Which meant that the First was still around. Nothing had been settled.

Not yet, at least.

----

Fenton was amazed when the slayers –all of them; his and the opposition girls as well-- simultaneously cried out in agony. Most of them fell to the ground, rolling about, lethargic and weak and sobbing. It took only a second for him to realize what had just happened. He turned to face Dawn Summers, his expression openly impressed. "Holy shit! _She did it_! I figured this abortion was doomed from the start. _No way_ that crazy bitch was gonna drop the spell. How the hell did Buffy even get the goddamned Scythe to her?! Color me impressed. Big Sis nailed this one right down the line, kid."

Nodding almost reluctantly, Dawn had to agree. They'd gone with Buffy's plan because she was the only one with reliable visions suggesting they might actually succeed, but some of their seers had privately expressed concern that there was no way to corroborate her visions, and much reason to doubt them. Nobody else was seeing anything so clearly, beyond a few obvious points that even those without precognitive abilities could predict simply because their plans _required_ them to take place before they could proceed any further. It was obvious to Dawn that the First was using every technique in the book to disrupt precognitive functions, yet so far Buffy had called this one perfectly. It didn't fit in with what she knew of such psychic talents, and she wondered how Buffy was doing it.

Not that she intended to argue with success. So long as Buffy kept calling them right, nobody was going to change course. As called for in the plan, their now-redundant escort ran back towards the nearest safe haven. There SGC troops were already establishing defensive positions in order to fight off the demon attack they expected any minute, as the final rays of the setting sun disappeared beyond the horizon. Everyone was disappointed but not really surprised when their anti-air defenses suddenly cut loose, a combination of Goa'uld and human technologies unleashing a massive barrage into the darkening sky, which was suddenly lit up by brilliant explosions as distant incoming missiles ran into a defensive grid never previously seen on this planet.

Right on cue there was a thundering roar as hordes of demons and vampires suddenly came pouring out from their underground holding facilities. Dozens, perhaps even hundreds of girls, walking with expressions ranging from despondency to outrage back towards the Slayers Inc. central command post after abandoning the fight at the Compound walls when their slayer powers disappeared, were overrun by wave after wave of inhuman, bloodthirsty monsters who gleefully slaughtered them where they stood. Without saying a word Fenton met the eyes of his own team with a hard glare, silently ordering them to stand down and remain in position, despite the carnage going on around them. The plan had predicted this, and follow-up forces would be arriving momentarily. But it left a bad taste in their mouths to watch dozens of young women and girls be torn to pieces before their eyes, screaming in outrage and agony, and not be allowed to do anything about it.

Despite the screams of the dying and the thundering roar of the guns Fenton was not so distracted that he missed the approach of the First, who arrived at the Portal Facility just about bang-on their projected time-line. She was accompanied by a half-dozen guards, only two of them human, and through the lens of his 'scope Fenton could see the shimmering transparent plane of some kind of force-screen protecting the entire group. Annoying, but once again not unexpected. With all the monsters now running around the Compound it was inevitable that some of them would be able to use magic. Or at least use it well enough to prevent Fenton from taking out the First with one perfectly-placed bullet right between the bitch's eyes.

She was, Fenton admitted, a physically attractive woman. Buffy herself was a bit too young for his taste, but he took a few seconds to consider looking her up in five or ten years once she'd grown up a bit. Anyone who could plan a campaign this well and look that hot after she turned thirty was someone he might want to get to know better. The thought was only fleeting, barely reaching Fenton's consciousness as he re-re-evaluated their decision to hold off until the First had already entered the Facility. They had anticipated that she would surround herself with her most powerful magic-users before reaching the combat zone. They had known that their own wizards wouldn't be available to stop her, as they could not be risked until the spell was dropped. Given those two facts, the only thing they had available that stood a chance of taking her out was Illyria, and if they unleashed their Big Gun too early she would take out most of Cleveland when she blew.

It had also been determined early on that an Asgard transporter wouldn't work to 'beam' them into outer space before they went nuclear. Illyria had some kind of mental control over portals which extended even to the transporter, and it was assumed the First had some similar ability. This left the First's portal their only viable option for getting the god-like beings off earth before Illyria's containment suit failed. Which, in turn, meant they had to let the First enter the Portal Facility unopposed. Only when the timing met Buffy's exacting criteria could they use the Mutari-thing to return Illyria her Austin Powers-level mojo. There was an obvious down-side to that plan. Since nobody had a clear idea of what sort of defenses were emplaced within the Portal Facility, given his druthers, Fenton would have rather attacked while the enemy was relatively exposed outside and taken his chances on opening the door to the Facility afterwards.

Buffy had said no. She wasn't around to enforce her orders, but given that she hadn't steered him wrong so far, Fenton was inclined to go along with her this time despite his own preferences. So they watched the group approach the squat building, the guards surrounding the First protectively as she did something to the controls around the door. The minute that door started to open, Fenton looked over towards Dawn, raising one eyebrow questioningly.

She, in turn, faced Illyria, who stood tall and arrogant in her dark red exoskeleton, observing the happenings surrounding her with an expression of distain, neither excitement nor trepidation evident on her disconcertingly human-looking face. "Last chance to back out."

Generally Illyria did not look at Dawn like she was something she was being forced to scrape from the bottom or her shoe, but at these namby-pamby words she did look at her with something close to the expression of contempt she bestowed on most humans. "We waste time with your redundant bleatings. This decision was made long ago. Conditions have not sufficiently altered during the interim to warrant amending that choice. You waste valuable time seeking meaningless reassurances. Do what must be done."

As Dawn brought up Sam Carter's kludge of a home-built Mutari Generator, Illyria considered saying something further, admitting that after all this time among them she finally thought she understood slayers, and perhaps even humanity in general. As a god, Illyria had never previously needed to consider the concept of 'mortality.' She was _eternal_. Or at least, she _had_ been. Her internal debate over accepting the need to restore her powers, even if it should end up costing her life, had been a revelation. Only facing such a choice herself and permitted Illyria to understand that many slayers faced a similar dilemma. They were granted great power, at the price of a significantly shortened lifespan. In truth many humans sought similar trade-offs, accepting long-term damage to their health and potential longevity for the momentary adulation of athletic greatness. For millennia Illyria had considered them to be fools, the ephemeral glory unworthy of the inevitable cost. But now, facing a similar choice herself for the first time, Illyria understood why some might accept such a trade-off.

There was quite literally no price Illyria was unwilling to pay to get another shot at the First. Illyria had never been one to forgive a grudge, and her raging antipathy for the First could only be denied by the fact that her powers, confined as she was to a weak human shell, were such a pale shadow of her former abilities that the First would have no difficulty swatting her aside as if she were nothing more than a minor insect. Illyria had once been a god among gods! The most powerful beings in the known universe had once trembled before her wrath! It was… _undignified_… for someone such as her to be reduced to a state of such pathetic _insignificance_.

Illyria knew what would happen to her once the Mutari effect was reversed. The vampire had not lied to her. Within minutes the containment vessel would destabilize and she would _die_. Or at least be reduced to component packets of isolated energy, forever unable to reconsolidate, mindlessly drifting ever further apart throughout a dead universe for all eternity. But during those few minutes before it failed she would be able to inflict the sort of wrathful vengeance which had once made the very name Illyria inspire terror throughout the known universe. 'One last shot at glory' or not, it was worth the price. With a final nod she braced herself, and waited for the Key to restore her to what she once was, so that she might face her enemies as she truly was, and not the pale shadow of that godlike being she had become.

----

Entering the giant chamber that was the Portal Facility's sole room, the First casually flicked a few switches to turn on the lights –as well as many other things—and smiled at the hideous sucking wound in space that hung in the air at the center of the room, surrounded by rings of steel wrapped in literally miles of superconducting wire. Even the screaming sound of the air being sucked into the roiling black and grey vortex wasn't loud enough to overpower the noise of some kind of disturbance behind her, but the First didn't bother to turn around to see what was causing it, preferring to continue walking towards the main control apparatus closer to the center of the room.

The First already knew _exactly_ what was causing that disturbance.

She could almost _feel_ the universe tremble as Illyria was suddenly restored to her terrible ancient glory.

Unlike the universe, the First did _not_ tremble in fear with the realization. Occasionally a reputation for impatience came in handy. For instance, the First had been concerned that someone might question why it had completed work on the portal so quickly, when it need only have waited a few more years for an extra thousand or so slayers to be Called. Those extra slayers would have provided enough power on their own to open the portal all the way to its intended destination, without requiring an additional energy source to break through the final seal. Had anyone wondered, they might have eventually figured out that 'power' alone would not be enough to broach that final barrier. There was a mystical seal in place to prevent anyone from doing what the First intended to do, and in her presently mundane incarnation she lacked the ability to smash through that final seal.

It took more than mere power to break such a seal. It took a special kind of mystical energy, an ability to manipulate space and time uncommon even among gods. In fact, so far as the First knew, only a few even among the Old Gods had the power to do so. Among those Old Gods only Illyria happened to be available. And Illyria had been neutered, her powers emasculated to the point where she was no more powerful than one of the half-breeds she had once kept in thrall by the billions. None the less, only Illyria could broach that final seal, and she had to do it of her own free will. Quite literally _nothing_ could compel her to do so. Illyria did not feel pain or hunger or fear. Just as nothing could _force_ her to reassume her powers. Illyria had to _voluntarily_ permit the Mutari effect to be reversed, even knowing it would inevitably lead to her death. Somehow she had to be _persuaded_ to do so, because only if Illyria reassumed her powers would she be able to blow through the seal blocking access to the final destination the First's portal needed to reach.

It had been easy enough to kill two birds with one stone by modifying the plans to the Mutari device to automatically open all sealed dimensional barriers while it restored Illyria's powers. Those plans were conveniently left unprotected for her opponents to steal and use to build what they would never realize was a very slightly altered version of the _real_ Mutari Generator. Had the ancient god-king rejected the restoration of her own power she would leave the barrier forever sealed. By accepting it, she had unknowingly, _simultaneously_, opened every seal isolating portals the ancient gods had considered too dangerous to be broached. _All_ of them, _everywhere_. Simply by restoring Illyria's power, all demon dimensions were now accessible. Along with the distant, unnatural space the First so desperately sought to reach.

It was one thing to win. It was just so much more satisfying to win by making your opponents unwittingly grant you victory on a silver platter.

The First could not prevent herself from laughing uproariously, even as her enemies charged into the Portal Facility, following an ancient god-king restored to her full glory, exulting in her god-like power. A god-king who didn't have the slightest clue what awaited her.

----

They had been too far away for Buffy to hear what Willow and Kennedy had discussed, but it had taken enough time for her to get over the latest episode of ECF and recover some of her flagging strength. Even better, Kenn had not convinced Willow to send her to the Gobi Desert with a wave of her hand, and she seemed pretty put out by that failure. Not so put out that she did something stupid and pissed off Willow any more than she already was, given that Willow was still a witch, and Kennedy was no longer a slayer. The power balance in their relationship had just shifted dramatically, and Kenn did not appear to be too thrilled to discover just how little influence she now possessed over her former girlfriend.

From her distant perch atop a small out-building Buffy kept an eye on them, knowing Willow could see her, and knowing there wasn't a whole lot she could do about it if her one-time friend decided to take exception to her lobbing a bomb on top of her. She had no idea how this was going to play out. The First's machinations meant that her dreams of this confrontation were all over the map, with none providing an accurate vision of the true outcome. She hadn't lied to Xander about what she saw. In most of her visions Willow had died in the explosion after killing Xander. The fact that she _hadn't_ died this time, in addition to her shutting down the Activation spell afterwards, suggested pretty strongly that _someone else_ had killed Xander, but he'd survived long enough to warn her to get her shields up. There wasn't much doubt as to who that 'someone else' had to be. Which meant, Buffy figured, that Willow was probably just as mad at the First as she was with Buffy herself.

Based on the gestures she could make out, Buffy assumed Kenn was arguing, trying to suck up, occasionally pushing things but backing off quickly when Willow made it abundantly clear that she was done with being pushed around. Her hair and eyes remained completely black, which Buffy did not take as a good sign. But she hadn't whistled up a battleship and dropped it on top of Buffy's little hideout either, which she took as a rather good sign. Given the situation, she'd take any 'good' signs she could get.

Finally it appeared that discussions were over. When Kennedy turned away Willow didn't stop her, but didn't go with her either. She quite deliberately turned her back, looking towards the sound of the battle, observing the distant explosions lighting up the sky as Buffy's allies held off the forces the First was sending against them. Leaving Kennedy to walk towards the building where Buffy was hiding, neither of them armed with either weapons or superpowers, where their final confrontation would finally take place.

Leaving them to decide the matter on their own.

Buffy could have kissed her old friend for the unexpected indulgence.

----

The wizards had been brushed aside like the vermin they were. The door to the Facility was already closed, but Illyria didn't even bother to smash it open. A simple wave of her hand and a portal was opened right through the wall, into the building, allowing Illyria, followed quickly by Fenton and his team, to enter only a few seconds behind the First. Even the best training couldn't prevent the others from glancing nervously towards the hideous roiling waves of black pus and bile-green foam churning within the portal, which was about half the size of the StarGate back home, and its opposite in every way they could imagine. Instead of a shimmering wall there was a vortex leading down into a bleak, bottomless pit. Atavistic reaction caused the tiny hairs on their arms and the back of their necks to stand in fear. Humans were smart; but their ancestors had responded to more subtle signals. All of those ancestral warnings were screaming that they were looking at something fundamentally, hideously, unnaturally _evil_.

Forcing himself to turn away from what he knew he would always refer to as 'the Mouth of Hell,' Fenton silently got everyone's attention and gestured for them to deploy. Without knowing the internal layout of the Facility he had to make things up on the fly, but it wasn't all that complicated. One room, filled to the brim with computers and transformers and electrical conduit and science shit. Walkways made of steel grating led over and around obstacles, as nothing could interfere with the required geometric perfection of the regulatory systems. Fenton considered tossing a few grenades, but had no idea if it would do any good and Illyria wasn't waiting for them so he had little choice but to get his people moving and follow her. Power seemed to exude from her in waves, and the controlled lightning flashing in billions of static discharges between the conduits under the steel mesh walkway seemed to shift and sway like dancing sprites as she passed overhead.

Silently, rapidly, they approached the center of the Facility and its hideous portal, carefully searching for the First, knowing she was now only a few feet away from them, but still hidden behind intervening equipment.

Weapons held at the ready, preparing everyone for the final push forward, Fenton was caught completely by surprise when Illyria suddenly stopped, screamed in agony, and fell forward, never bending, dropping like a felled tree. A fraction of a second later he and everyone else was slammed down to the steel deck, bands of energy surrounding them, pain filling them as electrical discharges shot through and around their immobile bodies.

And for the second time, they heard the First laugh at them in triumph.

----

The First slowly approached the team who had dared to invade its realm, had dared to challenge its might, and smiled at their debasement. Illyria was screaming, not even a god-king capable of withstanding the forces the First was channeling through its body. Had she been able to speak, the First imagined Illyria would be attempting to express her surprise that she _could_, in fact, experience pain after all. A stunning turn of events the First had deliberately kept a secret until then, its effect unexpected…_shocking_, even, to the unfortunate victim.

Alas, the Old One was in no position to appreciate the First's little surprise. It could not even _think_ through waves of intense pain, its mind almost shattered by the agony as its intrinsic constituent energies were being ripped from every component of its very being. When whipping up its plans for a modified Murtari Generator, the First had studied the device very carefully. What it had discovered would have amazed Earth's best scientists. The same principles which had allowed Angel to contain Illyria's runaway power could be used for other purposes. Rather than bleed those energies into other dimensions, they could be tapped directly, stolen, _used! _Giant streamers of glowing eldritch energy emerged from Illyria's eyes and mouth, the ends of her fingers, blue lightning-like plasma being channeled into intensely brilliant bands of confined energy so bright they would fry the eyes of anyone foolish enough to stare at them directly.

Standing near her opponent, out of the way of the powerful beam of the raw mystical energy being sucked from the prone god, the First stood over her, gloating in victory, knowing Illyria wouldn't be able to hear her but incapable of holding back some sort of verbal expressions of her triumph. "Go ahead; _fight it_! _Try_ to resist! The more you fight it, the easier it will be to drain you of _all _of your power! I'll leave you a desiccated husk, like an Egyptian mummy!" Turning her mad, triumphant gaze on Fenton, she smiled, an expression which had him swallowing in atavistic fear. "Do you _see_ it, little man? The power of a _god! _Sucked out as if the Mighty Illyria Herself were nothing more than a walking _battery_! The greatest of the Old Ones, brought down by _Me_ using only such resources as are available to one of your pathetic race! No wonder they fear your kind! Tiny, insignificant _nothings_, who none the less have the capacity –if not the _ability_!--to build devices which are able to steal the powers of a _god_! 

"_They_ could never have imagined it might be even _possible_!

"But that is why I chose to become one of your kind in the first place, little man! Great things are _possible_ from such as you, even if your kind is not capable of _greatness_! None of the Elder Gods foresaw this! Using only the tools available to barely sentient sacks of protoplasm such as you, I have managed to undo _all_ of the measures they used to contain Me! You can see the portal changing, stretching, reaching into the vast 'nothingness' which exists between universes, higher-order dimensions being manipulated by energies capable of shattering suns! The power Illyria is channeling in order to accomplish this feat would drain one of your precious ZPM's in a small fraction of a second, and she has been pumping out such energies for more than a minute now! What is being done here is not meant to be seen by the likes of you. I doubt if your pathetic excuses for 'minds' are even capable of observing the reality of the shifting dimensional structures the vortex is seeking as it struggles to reach a stable configuration within the portal.

"It will take energies beyond your imagination to reach a pseudo-stable self-sustaining high-order dimensional configuration in something which isn't really 'space' as you understand it. This sort of manipulation of space and time is meant for the Gods Themselves! Grovel in appreciation, dog! You are witnessing something your kind will never see again. And it will be the _last_ thing you will ever see!"

Cursing his helplessness, Fenton struggled to free himself, knowing it was futile even as he tried. The bonds holding him down were not physical, could not be bypassed or broken. Bands of sheer energy trapped them as effectively as if they were made of steel. He could move, slightly, but the harder he pushed, the more resistant whatever force field was holding him down became. Too much exertion and he couldn't even breathe.

He couldn't figure out what had gone wrong. Buffy hadn't warned them about _this_! There _had_ to be a way out! They needed to be able to get to the First if the rest of her vision was to come to pass. But so far, he hadn't come close to finding one.

The First was watching the portal, which to Fenton's merely-human eyes appeared to be a boiling putrescent wound, the whirlpool-like vortex slowly diminishing as the agitation of the boiling exterior component increased to the point where there was no longer a funnel-shaped depression in the center. He didn't take that as a good sign, and tried to divert the First by asking useless questions. "How did you know we were coming? This trap wasn't set up to catch just anyone. It was designed _specifically_ to take out Illyria. Your girls outside didn't have the slightest clue what was happening. But you knew _exactly_ when and how we planned to attack! How did you know?!"

For a few seconds he thought she would ignore him, apparently enjoying the purple and brown colors now visible roiling in the portal while serenaded by Illyria's screams, but finally she deigned to respond. "One of your leaders by the name of 'Kinsey' apparently believed that I would be interested in making some kind of 'deal.' It takes a special kind of idiocy to be able to convince yourself that I would need to make any sort of 'deal' with the likes of you in order to succeed in My endeavors. However, this fool was apparently convinced that if he unilaterally provided certain useful Intelligence, I would let him have the Key once I was finished with it."

She shrugged. "I suppose that if he really wants the Key, Mr. Kinsey is more than welcome to come get her. Although that might be a rather difficult challenge, given that once I am finished using said Key it will leave him –as well as the rest of the universe-- a rather energetic mass of superheated plasma." Turning to face the struggling human, she smiled, although her eyes were most definitely not amused. "I'll keep up my end of the bargain. The Senator might have a few problems collecting his payment, however."

Frowning, Fenton thought back to all the promises that had been made to him if he reached a similar deal with the First. He'd told General Hammond all about it. He'd also made damned certain he never took off his anti-psychic device afterwards. He was fairly certain _he_ hadn't made any such deal. The fact that someone else had done so meant that Kinsey had _known_ he was going to refuse, but had been using him as a diversion since they _already had_ someone else willing to do the job. Since they were 'obviously' counting on him, Hammond had never bothered to look at the rest of the team to see who might have been more receptive to the offer.

He thought about asking, but didn't bother. It wouldn't help him get out of this predicament, and discovering the identity of the person who had accepted Kinsey's offer didn't matter if they couldn't.

But once they did, he intended to hunt down the traitorous son of a bitch and skin him alive.

----

Kennedy really was an incredibly pretty girl. Tall and slim, with beautiful dark eyes and a smooth round face. She had prominent cheekbones offset by full lips normally emphasized by a wide smile. Her dark brown hair had been cut short, showcasing her increasing maturity where previously there had been only a generic youthful prettiness. She had the whole sultry Latina thing going for her, very nicely packaged.

She was not the sort of girl anyone would expect to spend most of her time studying martial arts. Of course, Buffy silently assumed that few people who looked at Kennedy would realize that she was a scum-sucking psychopathic bitch, either. She was the most vain, self-centered, egotistical –wait; weren't all of those the same thing?—evil conniving bitch Buffy had ever known. Cordelia had been more than a bit self-centered, but even at her worst she had never considered other people to be nothing more than random objects to be used and discarded as she saw fit. Hell, Buffy herself had been accused more than once of acting similarly, but it took someone like Kennedy to show her the real difference between doing what she _had_ to do, and doing whatever she _felt like_ doing.

Unfortunately being an evil whiny self-centered etcetera bitch didn't mean she wasn't a damned good fighter, and Buffy was too tired to appreciate facing someone good enough to go toe-to-toe with her. Unlike most slayers she had been deeply into martial arts long before she was Called, and still remembered how to fight without being endowed with superhuman powers. Which meant that also unlike most slayers, she could fight Buffy on even terms now that they were all back to being merely human, even when Buffy wasn't exhausted by her previous fights and the effects of ECF. Given that she was currently suffering from both those not-so-minor inconveniences, it was everything Buffy could do simply to keep herself from being pummeled.

Already she had been caught up by one episode during their battle, and Buffy had only survived by getting a good hit through Kennedy's defenses just before she was overcome by the paralysis that would otherwise have left her defenseless. By the time Kennedy recovered, Buffy had been able to mount a modest defense which had kept her alive long enough to recover to the point where she was actually able to fight back.

But the attacks were coming at more frequent intervals. Kennedy had managed to get a few good hits in already, and Buffy was bleeding from the mouth and nose. She'd forgotten how much it _hurt_ to get hit when you weren't super-powered. Nothing fatal so far, but she really missed having a slayers ability to recover from such wounds in seconds. The girl was pushing her hard, and Buffy was getting tired. Unless she could figure out how to take her down in a hurry, it was only a matter of time until Kennedy would able to take advantage of her helplessness during an episode of ECF. There was no doubt in Buffy's mind that when such an opportunity presented itself, Kennedy would be more than happy to exploit it.

Self-centered people were _not_ renowned for their adherence to Marquess of Queensbury rules.

Of course, after several months of working with Jack O'Neill, neither was Buffy.

---

Carter was having no more success in escaping her bonds than anyone else, and was well aware how little time they had remaining before the portal stabilized. If the First hadn't been lying, the equivalent of hundreds of ZPM's had been drained from Illyria, and even for a god that was a serious amount of energy. Like Fenton she suspected that the portal was getting close to stabilizing into its final configuration, and unless they could escape before it did there would be little they could do to prevent the First from carrying out its plans. Like Fenton she tried to divert its attention, because simply lying there futilely struggling wasn't going to do much to change that outcome. "So you knew our plans all along. You sacrificed all those innocent girls just to string us along. We arrived with the energy source you needed, and presumably the Key as well. Which means your plan will inevitably succeed.

"Unless the Elder Gods intervene _again_!"

The First stared at her for a few seconds, obviously wanting to savor Illyria's defeat, but even more obviously wanting to gloat over her victory with someone who could actually understand her, which was not the case of the still-screaming god-king. "What makes you think they intervened before?"

"Isn't that why the Key even _exists_? Didn't they create the Key to prevent you from doing something like this back when your original universe was dying?!" It was a shot in the dark, but Carter didn't know what else to try.

The First was suddenly glad it had let her speak, rather than simply kill the human insect out of hand. It unleashed a loud, cackling, obviously very amused laugh. "You _fool_! You understand _nothing_! _They_ did no such thing!"

When she paused Carter thought she intended to defend herself. Then she saw her evil smirk, the triumphant gloating obvious. "_They_ didn't create the Key to stop _me_ from destroying this universe! _I_ created the Key to stop _them_ from destroying _me_!!!"

Turning slightly, she looked directly into Dawn's eyes. "That's right baby! _Ah'm yo mama_!!" Once again the First laughed aloud, a demented braying taking positive delight in the horrified expression on Dawn's face. "I was so very amused by the religious aspect of your legend, Dawnie! There you were, the cosmic equivalent of a _broken condom_, something neither intended nor wanted, yet the locals worshipped you as a _god_! It just seemed like such a perfect metaphor for their kind of sub-intelligent life!"

The First thought the expressions on their faces were priceless. Unlike her they had not taken measures to ensure they would not forget exactly who the Key truly was, so all turned towards Dawn, shock obvious, as it had likely been just as obvious the previous hundred times they had figured it out, only to forget it again a few minutes later. Unlike the rest of them however, Ash Fenton's expression of amazement quickly fell into one of despondent self-pity. Carter raised a questioning eyebrow and Fenton shook his head with bitter regret. "_Dawn_ is the damned _Key_! I don't believe it! If she isn't God, she's the closest thing we've got to it. I just realized that when I _do_ meet the _real_ God, I'm going to have to admit that the first thing I thought when meeting His representative on Earth was 'Nice tits.'" He shook his head forlornly, muttering mostly to himself. "Goin' straight to Hell. Straight to Hell."

There were a few muffled snickers of laughter from his men, restrained like the others where they'd been trapped, but knowing what their leader was trying to do. As things stood they were screwed. He was trying to shake things up a bit, rattle a few cages and see what was knocked loose. Unfortunately for Ash Fenton, the First was not someone who appreciated being laughed at. It didn't matter if it was a 'joke,' or not directed at her in the first place: the First was not someone who tolerated an insult. _Any_ insult. Meeting his eyes, the First nodded in agreement. "Yes, I suppose you are." Before he even realized exactly what had 'shaken loose,' Fenton's eyes went wide as the First lifted her leg and smashed her heel down on his throat, crushing the larynx instantly, blood filling his trachea, causing his eyes to bulge as he struggled against the pain, desperately struggling to draw a breath.

Everyone screamed in anger and horror as Ashton Fenton, Colonel, United States Air Force, possibly the only human being in history to have ever killed a tyrannosaurus rex, died without being able to move a single muscle.

The First was not apologetic. "Does anyone else find me _amusing_?"

-----

Buffy could feel it approaching. So far just a vague discomfort, but a sign of much worse things to come. The interval between episodes was down to only three minutes now, and while simultaneously trying to face off against a fighter of Kennedy's caliber it was becoming a real problem. Buffy still thought she was a technically better fighter, but Kennedy hadn't been shaken up by two previous fights and half a dozen attacks of ECF. The only reason she was still alive was because just before the last two attacks she'd launched an all-out assault on the other girl, knocking her down just before Buffy herself had been rendered defenseless when she had been overcome by the shakes. Kennedy had put two and two together, and unfortunately for Buffy her math skills were as competent as her martial arts skills. This time around she was fighting defensively. Not attacking, just waiting for the next time her opponent was overcome by the effects of ECF.

It wasn't a pretty way to win, but Kennedy had less than no interest in fighting 'fair.' She was there to _win_, period. She'd lie about how she did it afterwards.

Still, she was a bit surprised that Buffy wasn't doing everything she could to take her out while she still could; throwing everything she had left into a frantic final attempt to take down her opponent before she was completely helpless. Holding back, conserving her energy, seemed to be pretty dumb tactics, and until then Buffy hadn't done anything so overtly stupid. What she didn't realize was that Buffy saw no need to do something so futile this time. There had been no calls to her cell phone, no messages blared over loudspeakers. The First had not succumbed to what politicians considered 'reason.' Meaning that everything now depended on Plan C, and Buffy no longer had to even _pretend_ that she wanted it any other way.

Unfortunately for Kennedy, she had figured things out just one cycle too late. Because unless Buffy had completely screwed things up, this episode of ECF would be unlike any of the others. In fact, if she hadn't miscalculated, this episode would be like nothing even the gods themselves had ever seen.

Not even they were ready for Plan C.

----

Dawn screamed as the First released her from whatever force fields had been holding her against the metal grating, still horrified by the sudden, completely unexpected murder just inches away from her. Fenton's neck was a huge black mass, his eyes open but unseeing. It was a horrible sight, and she was completely off-balance by the turn of events so in no position to take advantage of her momentary freedom. She was considerably bigger than the First, but not nearly as strong, and before she knew what was happening the First had twisted her arm behind her back, using leverage to exert considerable pain to ensure that Dawn could not escape.

Only then did Dawn notice that the portal had finally stabilized, still swirling and churning nauseously and looking like a septic wound on the face of reality. But the surface almost flat, the whirlpool effect having finally all but disappeared.

When the First forced her to march towards that hideous apparition, Dawn couldn't help but scream in terror, the high-pitched noise cutting through the angry shouts as Fenton's men impotently cursed his murderer.

----

Casually, as if they were having a friendly conversation, Buffy suddenly spoke up, looking for an opening, but not appearing to be terribly interested in resuming the fight. "The last time I came through to this world, I was told about something really interesting. Do you want to know what it was?"

Frustrated and angry that she hadn't been able to put her smaller, more damaged opponent away, Kennedy wasn't much interested in talking, but was feeling pretty confident that this time she'd be in position to take advantage of whatever it was that was affecting the slayer she had grown to despise more than anyone else on earth. Everything Buffy had should have been Kennedy's. It should have been Kennedy who led the slayers, Kennedy who was spoken of in awed whispers, Kennedy who was listened to and respected and liked. Buffy was a whiny fool who had managed to get lucky a few times. Had Kennedy been in charge back in Sunnydale, the First would never have stood a chance. "Knowing you, it was that your hair was out of fashion. Close enough?"

Buffy smiled, knowing how pissed off her opponent was, and playing with her just a little. Because she suddenly realized that she didn't have to worry about anything anymore. It was all over but the shouting. Or, in her case, polite conversation. Plan C either worked or it didn't. There was nothing else to be done. Kennedy had totally bought into the First's promise that she would be saved, and rewarded with a powerful position within the New Order once the First succeeded in carrying out its plans. She had never once considered the billions who would die even if the First _hadn't_ been lying about everything that would come to pass once it succeeded in pushing the Key into that hellish portal. With all the pressure finally off her, Buffy welcomed the opportunity to shove her stupidity down Kennedy's patrician throat. "Almost. But actually, what _really_ got my attention was the fact that Krevlornswath of the Deathwok Clan couldn't go home to Pylea."

The look of confusion on Kennedy's face was priceless.

----

Spike hadn't said much up until that point, but when he saw the First manhandling Dawn, his protective instincts kicked in and he started yelling. Being Spike, his invective-filled tirade comprised the most shocking accusations and slanderously demeaning insults he could come up with. The First did not like to be insulted. It had just made that point unequivocally clear. It was only the fact that it was _Spike_ doing the ranting that gave her pause. Spike was the 'vampire with a soul,' and although the First didn't buy into the whole 'Shanshu Prophesy' BS she didn't intend to take any chances this close to complete success. 'Prophesies' were tricky things. Just in case even the attempt to kill him triggered some sort of prophetic backlash, the First simply reached for the remote control unit hanging from her belt and used it to extend the energy barriers so they covered his entire body. He was a vampire, so didn't need to breathe, and confined by such wards he wasn't going anywhere.

----

"What the hell does _Lorne_ have to do with anything?" Ordinarily Kennedy was not one for small talk during her fights to the death, but since she was simply holding back, waiting for Buffy to be overcome by ECF, she saw no problem letting the idiot waste her final few moments of life babbling on about trivialities.

For someone who was only a few seconds away from being incapable of defending herself, Buffy didn't seem to be in much of a hurry. "He couldn't go home because the portals were closed. Only the strongest mages could force them to open. So I got to thinking about this big portal the First wanted to use. It would be blocked too, and the First doesn't have the power to open it. None of the mages do either. In fact, only one thing I know would have the mojo to open that portal. And she just happens to hate the First with the sort of depthless passion usually reserved for mascara that runs at the first sign of tears.

"So I'm thinking, that means the First would probably need _us _to convince Illyria to do it _for_ her."

----

It didn't hurt to be cautious, so the First adjusted its grip on Dawn's arm and used the other to manipulate the control unit as it continued to walk backwards towards the portal, keeping its eyes out for any sign of interference, paying particular attention to the futilely screaming vampire and any indications of a rescue force trying to blow open the main door. There was a sudden high-pitched whine from the direction of each of the trapped prisoners as the remote unit created an overload in their anti-psionic devices, and then even louder screams of agony as the First ripped through their minds searching for any unanticipated ploy or secret stratagem Buffy or her team might have been planning. Normally the First was a bit more delicate in such efforts, but there wasn't much time left and, besides, they'd pissed her off.

The First wasn't really surprised to discover that nobody knew anything about any such secret ploy. Since she doubted that Buffy would have told them anything even if she had been planning such a surprise move, it wasn't unexpected that none of them were anticipating a last-minute reprieve. But even negative evidence was worth knowing right about then, even though half of them were driven insane by the brutal mind-rape. It was more than slightly irritating for the First to acknowledge that the people Buffy _might_ have told had she actually been planning something –Dawn and Spike—were both immune to her telepathic abilities. Meaning that either no last-second plan was in the works, or she wouldn't learn about it by exploiting that telepathic talent. Its best option was to keep a close eye on Spike and his now-silent rant, and a firm grip on the Key, in order to ensure that neither could do anything in the final few seconds it would take to toss the Key into the damned portal.

So the First kept a careful eye on its two most potentially-troublesome captives as it pulled a struggling Dawn back towards the portal, prepared for anything, trying not to get too excited even though it was about to fulfill its fondest dreams after so many frustrating millennia.

----

Kennedy wasn't buying it. "_Bull! _If you knew Illyria was needed for the plan to work, you'd never have let her come anywhere near this place!"

Feeling the onset of the ECF attack, Buffy was still able to bring up a condescending smile. "That would depend on whether _my_ plans needed her to open the portal as well, now wouldn't it?"

Telling herself she wasn't nervous, only filled with contempt and passing the time until whatever was happening to Buffy happened again, Kennedy still couldn't prevent a trace of nervousness from appearing in her voice as she responded. "Then it would be a pretty fucking _stupid_ plan! You've got what? This weird shaking thing, and a retarded prophesy! If you're expecting that 'Shanshu' crap to come to anything, you're out of luck! The First has it covered. She's known all about it right from the start! The 'Champion' has to _die_ first in order to be reborn! She ain't gonna touch a hair on his peroxide-stained head. No threat, so no dusting, so no prophesy coming into play. See how easy it works?"

Her smile looking a bit distorted as it morphed into a rictus grimace, Buffy was still, if only barely, able to speak. "Shanshu… doesn't apply to… Spike. He has a _soul, _but he isn't… their _Champion_."

Kennedy could see that her oppon

ent was about to be overcome by whatever it was affecting her, this would soon all be over, so could afford to indulge her delusion a few seconds longer. And it was a delusion! It _had_ to be! "_Of course_ he's the Champion, you moron! The Prophesy is clear. A vampire with a soul will fight the Forces of Evil in the Final Battle, and be granted his life as a reward. Not too many vampires with a soul around nowadays, Buffy. Spike is the Champion for the Powers That Be. This is Armageddon. Ipso facto and kumbaya, ad hominum non sequitor, Spike is their Champion. Only, if the First doesn't _threaten_ him, he doesn't get to be the 'hero,' so no shanshu. It's called 'logic,' you pinhead!"

Feeling herself beginning to shake, Buffy could barely get the words out, but her eyes blazed with fervent intensity. "Spike isn't… the Powers' Champion…. He's _my_… Champion! Powers… already have… their own…!!!"

It took a few seconds for Kennedy to figure it out, before the clue-bat finally gonged like the Liberty Bell on Independence Day.

"_Angel_…!!!!"

----

The ECF had been nothing but an inconvenience. Annoying, but something her plans could accommodate. In several ways the First had even been able to take advantage of the affliction, using it as an excuse to get away her now-redundant followers. But it really was undignified to be so overwhelmingly affected by the physical manifestation of a natural phenomena a deity like the First would have been immune to in its true form. Fortunately it didn't last long, and her grip on Dawn would only tighten while she was overcome by the paralysis. Even if there was some validity to the prophesy, it was unlikely to manifest itself in the three seconds or so that the First would be unable to respond.

It would have been far more convenient had this latest episode arrived even a few seconds later, after the First had been able to toss the Key into the portal, but it was only a matter of a few seconds either way. Knowing that the only thing capable of stopping her plans at that point was the sudden manifestation of a mystical prophesy, the First kept her eyes on a firmly-trapped Spike, waiting for the effect to pass, and the final culmination of her eons-old dream.

The psychic scream from Kennedy wasn't expected.

The warning was even _less_ expected.

But it might have arrived in time! Desperately trying to turn her head, trying to see what was happening in the only direction she had considered to be completely safe, the First frantically tried to hold on. All it needed was three seconds.

_Three goddamn seconds_!

But it would not receive them. From within the portal, two human arms reached out, grabbed the paralyzed First by the neck, and pulled her backwards.

Into the portal.

Along with the still-screaming Key, still firmly trapped within her grasp.


	26. Chapter 25 Part 1

Chapter 25A 

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

--

**Return To Normal**

--

**Chapter Twenty Five – Part 1**

--

May, 1998:  
ANGEL  
_What's happening, Buffy? _  
BUFFY  
_Shhhhh. . . it doesn't matter.  
She pulls away to look at him. Kisses him passionately. _  
BUFFY  
_I love you. _  
ANGEL  
_I love you. . . _  
BUFFY  
_Close your eyes.  
Serenely compliant, he closes them. She kisses him softly.  
She steps back and thrusts the sword through his chest, directly into the chest of the demon behind him. There is an unearthly roar.  
Angel's eyes open wide -- he looks down at himself impaled, at Buffy uncomprehendingly.  
Buffy can't speak -- she tries not to cry as she takes another step back.  
Angel reaches out to her -- and the vortex closes over him, sucking him into Hell. _

---

It took some time for the Key to realize that it was conscious. _Alive_, in a way it had never been before. For the first time in its unimaginably long existence, it could grasp the complexities of the wonders which surrounded it. Patterns of space, lines of forces, the layered structure of time; all were perceptible to its emerging senses. There were no extraneous 'things' to get in the way and confuse it; no matter, no gravity, no absolute time. A human mind would have been driven insane by the nature of the fractional-dimensional structure of the space in which it suddenly found itself, and while this close to the open portal it could see the madness in Angel's eyes. An expression of desperate, confused hope. But within seconds –or was it years?—the portal disappeared, and with it anything resembling a reference point the human mind could comprehend.

Fortunately, the Key _wasn't_ human. It didn't need three linear dimensions, or an arrow to time, in order to comprehend its place in the universe. The Key had explored the interior of a black hole. It had witnessed the Big Bang. It had seen the very first light of the very first stars. It hadn't _understood_ any of what it had seen, but it had seen it all.

But it had never 'seen' anything like this. There was no 'light,' at any frequency, nor anything which might reflect such light back to its eye, if it had an eye, which might correspond to vision. The space was empty, and yet, was filled with ghostly reflections; of itself, the Key finally understood, itself refracted by shifting domain walls of dimensional stress. Human senses would not have seen this, but without corporeal 'eyes' the Key had to rely on its own hitherto unused versions of sensory apparatus. Its recent experience as a corporeal being came in wonderfully handy, allowing it to adapt, as it now knew what senses could do, and now understood why they might be needed.

It was difficult to determine whether the Key still had a 'body.' Did the avatar still exist? Angel had been 'real,' in the sense that he retained corporeal structure. When it 'reached' up, with arms it could no longer feel, it experienced the interesting sensation of touching its intestines, its tongue, the heel of its left foot. There were more than three dimensions operating where it found itself, and its 'arm' might be a light-year long, or might be attached to the back of its head.

The Key found the entire experience positively _delightful_!

Well, not _all_ of the Key. There was a part of itself, a tiny, annoying subset, which insisted that none of this was very important. That there was no time to play, to indulge in the wasteful luxury of experiencing its first sensations as a self-aware living creature. The First had brought it here for a purpose, and that purpose was not, could not be, benign. _Something_ was happening to the very nature of space and time simply due to its presence, and the Key needed to discover what that was.

The Key had never previously experienced a dissenting subconscious opinion. Of course, it hadn't really ever experienced a clear conscious opinion either. With the vast majority of its experience as a unique individual occurring as Dawn Summers, it felt it should heed that subconscious voice. Especially when that dissenting voice sounded like it was _Dawn's_ voice.

---

Back under the Mountain, all those months ago, O'Neill had kept verbally pounding away at Buffy as they tried to come up with an effective plan:

_What is your ultimate objective? Buffy wanted to kill the First.  
How? Use the Key.  
How? Dunno, but the Key is only thing potentially powerful enough to do it  
Potentially? Conditions would have to be just right.  
Why? In normal space, the Key is almost powerless. It's on an alternate time-stream. In most alternate dimensions, the fight would destroy the very fabric of the universe. They need to move the conflict into a place where everything was just right so that it can be fought until one of them won.  
Where? A really, really weird space 'outside' of the normal universe.  
How? Dunno, but Glory tried to use a portal. _

Their overall strategy had been build around the answers they came up with to those questions. But as the strategy took shape, constraints were imposed on the tactics they could employ in order to maintain the overall strategic vision. They were fighting a _god_, something smarter and faster and more adaptable than they could ever be. There had been a lot of discussion and even argument, as Buffy had assumed they could beat the First by exploiting the fact that they knew some things it did not. O'Neill had disagreed. Exploiting such facts was the way they would _fight_ the First, but it wasn't the way they would _beat_ the First. Gods, like AI's, almost by definition would know more 'facts' than any human. They would never win if they tried to attack their opponents' greatest strength.

Humans, on the other hand, were _sneaky_ little bastards, and gods _weren't_. Probably because they didn't have to be. They would fight the First by _exploiting_ certain facts, such as them knowing about ECF, but they would _beat_ the First by _tricking_ it. By exploiting the fact that it 'knew' things which were not, in fact, accurate, they would be able to catch it by surprise. O'Neill already had one such mistaken assumption in mind. It seemed likely that the First would assume everything Buffy did was intended to bring them face-to-face so that she could _prevent_ the Key from being dragged into that portal. Which seemed pretty logical, given that no Key tossed in portal equaled no universe getting fubared. O'Neill himself felt such an outcome would be fine and dandy if they could manage it, but he'd spent a fortune on lottery tickets and hadn't won one yet. He didn't expect to hit the jackpot this time either.

Buffy had looked at him strangely, trying to look innocent, before agreeing that she fully intended to comply with the President's order that she do everything in her power to ensure that the Key wasn't used to destroy the universe.

O'Neill had snorted, unimpressed. Like Buffy, he wouldn't be overly upset if the issue was _resolved_, rather than simply delayed until the next time. Chances were 'next time' there would be people as competent as him around to handle things. Like Buffy he would follow orders and make every effort to prevent the First from succeeding, but unlike arm-chair warriors, O'Neill preferred to consider such contingencies as the remote possibility that Plan A would _not_, in fact, succeed brilliantly. If the First _did_ somehow manage to toss the Key into the portal, what were their options?

So far as Buffy was concerned the best thing about planning the mission the way they were doing it was that it held the ultimate in security; anything she told them, they promptly _forgot_. So Buffy told them that years before, she had killed her boyfriend, sending him into a portal. That portal had just happened –and not by accident—to have sent him into the _exact same_ obscure dimension which the First was seeking to reach using its own portal. He would only have a few seconds, but when the First opened her portal he would be able pull in the First if she just happened to be standing exactly in front of it. If Buffy could ensure that the timing was perfect, the First would be returned to its state of non-corporeality. By a happy coincidence, Buffy just happened to be psychic now. She would have to be present in order to ensure that the timing was exactly right.

O'Neill had smiled the sort of smile that made System Lords nervous. Even if the First did not know the reason for it, she would _assume_ that Buffy would want to be there in person. That was a mistake. An expected one from a slayer, or even the average soldier, but a mistake none the less. Her job was not to move the First was into the right place at the right time; her job was to _see to it_ that the First was standing in the right place at the right time.

At the time Buffy hadn't understood the difference, and it took awhile for O'Neill to explain. He had looked over at Hammond, and they had both almost sighed. "Your job isn't to 'do' things, Buffy. Your job is to ensure that things _get done_. Once you've figured that out, you'll understand what 'being in command' is all about."

---

Faith showed up at the Portal Facility not long after the SGC forces had pushed back the vampires and demons feeding on the ex-slayers who had been congregating in the area. O'Neill and his people were in a grim mood as they used flame throwers to incinerate the demons they had trapped between converging units. The bodies of hundreds of dead girls lying nearby ensured that nobody was of a mind to capture one of the zombies for study. The screams of the burning demons couldn't drown out the cries of the few surviving girls. The only good news was that the girls happened to be _ex_-slayers, which meant they used to be _slayers_, so even though they'd lost their powers, a lot of them had kept their heads to set up a defensive position within the main building and hold the inhuman enemy off long enough for help to arrive.

Figuring that the civilians were in good hands as his people reached the huge building and began to evacuate the survivors, O'Neill and a small team were attempting to figure out a way to get into the Portal Facility, They weren't having much luck. Knowing that his people, including Carter, were trapped within that building with their most dangerous opponent did not do much for his mood. Seeing Faith saunter up, machine gun in her one hand, did not do much to improve it. "Aren't you supposed to be coordinating the evacuation?"

She simply shrugged, giving him an insolent smile. O'Neill hadn't really needed such confirmation that it wasn't the slayer in her which had given Faith her bad attitude. "_Relax_, Jack. We got it covered. Mini-Riley worked out some kinda deal with the army dudes outside, and they're hauling away everyone we can send down. They found the nuke, by the way. At least the one in Cleveland. Which you probably already figured out given the lack of nearby mushroom cloud. Anyways, Admiral, I'm here to tell you not to bother trying to break into that there fortress. You couldn't without bringing down the whole damn building, and it's too late anyway. According to Buffy, 'the game is afoot!' That's a quote, by the way. The Key and the First are duking it out within the Portal. In case you're wondering, we now exist within Skrode-streaker's Universe, the way your honey told us about." 

O'Neill retained just enough sense to absently mutter "Schrödinger's Universe, moron!" Mostly he was raising his eyebrow questioningly towards Jackson, not normally his go-to guy for physics issues but the closest thing available to an expert. Barely able to turn his attention away from the priceless codices and ancient manuscripts he had salvaged, their linguistics expert could only shrug. "Everything feels normal to me."

Turning back towards Faith, O'Neill asked her where Buffy was, and seeing her also shrug, he glared at the young woman. "Then how the hell do you know the game is on?! When did Buffy tell you this? You haven't seen her all day, and you were sure as hell too busy last night for physics lessons!"

His embarrassment and distaste were so obvious Faith had to smile. And being Faith, she had to push it. "Y'know, I hope I get the chance to see your world. It must be amazing, like that lake in Africa. What's it called? Lake Nakuru, I think? The one where there are like billions of flamingoes along the shoreline? I can only imagine what your world must be like, an _entire world_ where every lake and river and shoreline must be covered in birds."

O'Neill was completely confused by the comment, which seemed to come out of left field. "What the hell are you babbling about? What birds?"

She smiled again, but this time her eyes were hard, and she really stuck in the knife. "All the goddamn _storks_ you would need to deliver three hundred million babies to people who apparently have never gotten laid in their entire lives!" When O'Neill only looked more embarrassed and confused, Faith scowled and explained. "Every time B so much as brought up the subject of sex you covered your ears and went 'Tra-la-la, I can't hear you!' It seemed to offend your delicate little sensibilities. So while you _assumed_ we were gettin' our freak on, Buffy was actually telling me and Spike exactly what she had planned.

"Now that it's too late for you to screw it up, she asked me to fill you in…"

----

October, 1998:

_Buffy returned to the place where she killed Angel and sealed Acathla's portal, finally able to say good-bye and leave her ring. Soon afterwards, she left. Seconds later, the ring started to shake, and a bright white light appeared. When it faded, Angel, naked and shivering, was back from Hell_.

----

Prompted by its newly-acquired subconscious voice, the Key 'looked' around with senses possessing no human equivalents, and realized that something was very wrong. In fact, _everything_ was wrong. The entire mathematical order of space and time was breaking down, once-harmonious equations suddenly accepting previously-forbidden input, the false output of that data being accepted as valid by succeeding equations. The problem was cascading, building as tertiary equations accepted ever-increasingly random inputs, leading to ever more bizarre outputs. The Key found the process fascinating, and would have enjoyed studying it longer, but the voice, like a sudden pinprick to its metaphorical toe, reminded the Key that this had catastrophic repercussions.

The very building blocks of the universe were destabilizing. With no constraints on 'right' answers, natural laws were falling apart. Examining the transforms more closely, the Key realized that it not only 'knew' the correct answers, it was the correct answer. Waving its immaterial hands like a conjurer, the Key restored the balance to the nearby mathematical order, simply by imposing constraints on the acceptable inputs. It didn't have to 'think' about doing this; simply due to its mere presence, the Key _imposed_ such order on space and time. But outside of its range, the laws continued to break down as the acceptable range of input variables cascaded, leading to ever more unbalanced results, rapidly approaching the point where the entire mathematical order which maintained the structure of the universe would completely destabilize.

For the first time the Key was starting to get a bit concerned. This was the first emotion it had ever felt, and it stopped examining that emotion only when prodded by what felt like a swat to the back of its head. The 'Dawn Summers' avatar comprised only a miniscule fraction of its entire being… but she was a bossy little wench. Only this time, given the circumstances, she probably had good reason.

Adjusting the parameters of its 'vision' to encompass the mathematical order extending further 'away' from it than its own 'reach,' the Key was overwhelmed with data, mathematical equations of such complexity it branched into multi-dimensional variables in fractal patterns. The Key was not 'seeing' as a human would even understand the concept. In this universe every dimension had its own scales, infinite length, infinite angles for every curve along that length, transfinite numbers extending into their own sub-dimensional structures with non-integer values. Even for the Key, the tiniest subset of the extended matrix was overwhelming, an infinite number of infinitesimally small data-points, each infinitely variable, each just as valid as any other, each extending into its own infinite subset.

Almost lost within the ocean of data, the Key could feel itself being overwhelmed, its own newly-emerging 'personality' being crushed by the sheer magnitude of the information being shoved into its evolving mind. Never having needed to learn such matters, the Key was unable to discriminate the incoming data, to factor relevance into the mass of raw numbers, to impose order by filtering out the garbage. Once again, that sub-component of itself which _had_ experience with such issues came to its aid, giving it the idea that such rules were actually possible, Dawn's own education providing the basis of a simple filtering system which the Key almost instantly extended far beyond the comprehension of any merely human intelligence. Rules were imposed. Order was restored within the torrent of incoming data.

The result was even more frightening. Now that it understood what it was 'seeing,' and could manipulate subsets of the data to project as-yet unobserved results forward into the future –in itself, a mind-boggling concept to the Key!—the implications were nothing short of _catastrophic. Everything_ was destabilizing. Every law, every component of every superset, every aspect of mathematical order, all of it was breaking down.

And all because the Key had screwed up.

---

Before Kennedy had a chance to realize that whatever had been causing Buffy to experience the shakes had suddenly disappeared, the smaller girl took advantage of her sudden recovery by striking out without warning. Had everything worked out properly the fight would have ended then and there, but Buffy was still weakened by the ECF attack, and Kennedy was more on guard than she had expected. So the punch that should have broken her jaw instead merely swiped the side of Kennedy's rapidly-moving face. It still hurt, and Buffy was experienced enough to follow it up immediately while her opponent was off-balance, but she had just blown her best shot at winning and they both knew it.

So she tried the old taunting routine. "No help from Wil? Not even after all you've meant to each other? That's harsh." There was no reaction to the gibe.

Kennedy had proven herself to be not only a better fighter, but a better tactician than Buffy had expected. She'd held back while her guards took on Buffy, not doing much damage but tiring her, and then showed unexpected patience when taking advantage of the accumulated damage to her opponent. It was unexpected, and incredibly frustrating to Buffy, who was certain she was faster and more acrobatic than the other girl, but couldn't take advantage of it so long as Kennedy was unwilling to take any risks. Not even her normal taunts or natural ability to piss people off was working this time, as Kennedy knew she had the upper hand and seemed content to wait as long as necessary until her already tired opponent fell to exhaustion.

"I mean, I dropped a _bomb_ on her! That would just about _have_ to piss you off at least a little bit! Yet she isn't interfering." Once again, Kennedy ignored her taunting.

This wasn't the sort of tactics Buffy was used to, especially from someone who had been a slayer. Xander had sent through some training videos, and from what Buffy had seen every girl in them had been as naturally aggressive as she had been, although most weren't quite as crazy about it as Faith had been. And still was. Kendra had been the closest Buffy had ever come to seeing an ice-cold slayer, and even she hadn't liked it when anyone insulted her. Had Kennedy been bigger –she was only slightly taller than Buffy—her tactics would have been enough to guarantee her a victory. But Buffy was hoping that sooner or later she would have to close in, _if_ she could be convinced that Buffy was recovering from the ECF attack faster than she was tiring from the constant fighting. Sometimes patience was a virtue, but sometimes it was better to take advantage of your opportunities while the opening presented itself.

"All I gotta say, is that you must be one _lousy_ lay." Okay, that one ticked her off!

Enough to force Kennedy to finally break her silence and speak, at least. "I don't need to _beat_ you, moron! My job is just to _delay_ you! Once the First takes care of business, _you'll_ be dead and _I'll_ be President of Australia!"

Buffy couldn't sneer as well as Faith, but she tried her best. "The First is about to have its ass reamed, you twit! The fact that I'm no longer shaking means she is _gone_, and the fact that we're not already dead means that the Key is kicking her butt!"

For just a few seconds Kennedy looked startled, but Buffy wasn't able to take advantage of her momentary distraction. "No way. I _know_ you, Buffy. Christ only knows I've heard enough goddamn stories about you from my 'beloved' girlfriend over the years to make me want to vomit! _No way_ you'd let this go down without you being there in person. That's just not the way you operate."

Shaking her head at the depth of her misunderstanding, Buffy figured it was time to explain the realities to this idiot. "Do you not understand why the First Evil does evil things, Kenn? Here's a clue: because it's fucking _evil_! It can't _not_ be evil! Getting mad at it for being what it is would be a waste of time. I _hate_ it, but it's not personal.

"_You_, on the other hand, had a _choice_. You _didn't_ have to do what you did. You _chose_ your side, you _chose_ your actions, and you _chose_ to murder Giles! _Nobody_ gets away with messing with Giles! Anyone messes with Giles, and they had better be prepared for the greatest ass-kicking in the history of kicking asses! Messing with Giles is a one-way ticket to a post-graduate lesson in the field of Buffy-imposed ass-ology.

"And that lesson is about to fall on you, _bitch_!"

----

"_Spike_?! He's a goddamn _vampire_!"

Faith had to smile at the shocked outrage O'Neill managed to inject into his indignant yell. "He's _her_ champion, dude! He would _never_ let her down! Spike might live by a kind of fucked up code, but it's _his_ code, and he takes it seriously. He swore an oath to her, and he'll _die_ before going back on it."

Riley was standing nearby; their own Riley, not the young import version, and their relationship had always been strained. When she'd had sex with him by pretending to be Buffy, Faith had only looked at it as a way to hurt Buffy. 'Beefstick' or not, she'd thought it had been pretty good, and his gentle post-coital cuddling had been something she'd never previously experienced. Unfortunately Riley had always considered the act to be something close to rape, and he'd never forgiven her for it. "I know he's a Champion. So did the First. She'd have known about the 'Shanshu' prophesy and taken steps…"

Faith interrupted him. "I said _her_ champion, not _the_ Champion. Note the lack of a capital letter 'C' in my verbiage there, Hoss. I've been boning this guy on and off for the better part of a decade, but I never once doubted that if B ever asked Spike to do something, he'd do it, no questions asked. Well, boys, last night: she asked. She figured the First would be able to read the minds of everyone else on the insertion team, but Spike was immune to her telepathic powers. So he was the only one there who knew _exactly_ when the portal would open and the First would be overcome by ECF."

Riley still wasn't getting it. "If he _wasn't_ the Champion, then how in the hell did he force the First into the portal?"

Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Faith spoke to the crowd, now that most of the soldiers who had been attempting to break into the Portal Facility had given up. "He _didn't_! Don't you get it? _Angel_ did!"

"_Angel_?! He's _dead_!"

"No shit, Sherlock. And a lot earlier than you're thinking he died, too."

This time it was Riley's turn to sigh in exasperation. "Well, duh, he's a vampire. He died hundreds of years ago…"

"_No_! Not that time! He died again _fifteen years ago_, before you ever came to Sunnydale. _Buffy_ killed him, in order to close Acathla's Portal. Sent him into a quote Hell dimension, where he remained for one hundred years end quote. When he came back six months later they assumed he was sent to a place where time moved a lot faster than it does in our world, but it turns out he went to the _same_ weird universe the First was trying to reach. He was there waiting for her. As soon as that bitch's portal opened, boom, he grabbed her from the inside.

"She never saw it coming."

---

May, 2003

LILAH

_Means we give. You win. We're moving out. The senior partners are ceding this territory to you, and to prove it, they want to give you controlling interest in our L.A. Office. You get the building, assets, personnel, letterhead, paper clips, all of it. It's yours to do with as you see fit. _

----

Once it understood that the lessons its Dawn avatar had learned could be used as the basis for its own explorations of the external environment, the Key quickly came up with analogues to the merely-human senses Dawn had used. There were no suns in this universe to provide light, or physical objects for such light to bounce off to provide anything to see, so its 'eyes' were like nothing a human would recognize. The fact that there were no linear dimensions, only infinitely-spiraling fractal sub-spaces packed together in infinite combinations, meant that it could not rely on anything like electro-magnetic radiation, which traveled in a straight line. Fortunately, the Avatar's sister had provided the key.

"_Listen to the music, Dawn_."

It wasn't quite 'music,' as a human understood it. Density waves propagating through the structure of the universe was closer, but not entirely accurate. The principle was the same, however. The Key was able to 'see' discordant 'notes' as the 'density' of transfinite compact dimensions shifted and decoupled when the governing equations broke down locally. It could now see that the problem was spreading rapidly. Unfortunately it was not spreading like a bacteria colony, since the fractal connections spanned more than two dimensions, and the equations of simple calculus did not extend in such a way as to provide consistent propagation models. What could be _seen_ was bad enough. Worse yet remained beyond the Key's ability to sense. 'Colonies' of instability, multiplying, suddenly appearing in random locations, spreading not just like wildfire but as if each localized outbreak created a billion pyromaniacs who suddenly appeared in a billion separate remote locations, lighting additional fires, the whole chain of events cascading like fission about to unleash something vastly worse than nuclear hell.

Time did not flow in this space the way it did in other universes. For once, the Key could think as fast as anyone else. But it had much to learn, and the First had exploited its knowledge advantage ruthlessly, spreading the destabilizing code across entire dimensional structures while the Key tried to figure out what was happening. Now that it understood the danger, the Key was quick to fix what it could of the spreading 'infection,' its own mathematical nature enough to impose order anywhere it could reach.

But it couldn't reach _everywhere_. Anywhere it could 'touch' with its metaphorical hands was instantly 'healed,' order restored, the invalid equations absorbed and repressed as its own governing equations repaired the instability. Unfortunately the Key's reach was not infinite, and the instability was spreading much faster than it could heal the damage. Had there been a way to mathematically predict the dispersal pattern it might have been able to get ahead, but right about then the Key was reminded of the parable of the Little Dutch Boy sticking his finger in a dike. Unless it figured something out quickly, it would soon be unable to prevent the entire edifice from falling apart.

----

Neither of them had ever been in a fight like this one. Until she was Called, Buffy had never been in an actual fight, and despite all her lessons in self-defense, Kennedy had never faced anyone actually trying to kill her. It wasn't a girly-fight, with hair-pulling and slapping and the occasional kick to the shins. Both were extremely well trained, extremely experienced martial artists, but both were unfamiliar with the sort of combat they found themselves engaged in. Fighting was for _slayers_. And neither of them was a slayer any longer.

Mostly, they were discovering that it _hurt_ when you got hit. A _lot_. When a vampire hit her hard enough to crack a rib or two a slayer was barely affected. When the same thing happened to a normal girl the pain was overwhelming. It took enormous effort to breathe, to stay on her feet, to keep fighting despite the agony. A pinched nerve meant her arm might be essentially useless for the next few minutes, and a hit to the eye meant swelling so severe she could barely see.

But both of them were also _furious_, filled with an overwhelming hatred for their opponent, and determined to win this final confrontation both had sought so eagerly. Both also quickly settled on tactics which they felt would let them win, and as the fight continued Buffy was reluctantly coming to the conclusion that Kennedy had been correct to hold back. The ECF episodes had taken too much out of her, left her too exhausted to continue fighting the way she had been trained, using the aggressive techniques she preferred. It wasn't the first time Buffy had been forced to fight on the defensive, and she hated it for the same reasons she had hated it the last time: you can't win fighting that way. Kennedy was doing just enough damage to ensure that she was tiring faster than she could recover from the cumulative effect of her experience suffering from ECF.

Much as she hated to admit it, Buffy realized that if she kept going with the tactics she had chosen, she was going to lose. Bra'tac had taught her as well as anyone could be taught. Her fighting technique was as good as anyone could ask for. The problem was that she was _exhausted_. A slayer was filled with power, hyper to the point of seeking out confrontations in order to work off some of that excess energy, but regular human beings quickly tired once the initial adrenaline rush faded. Buffy was running on empty, and only the fact that Kennedy respected her abilities too much to take the slightest unnecessary risk was keeping her from going down. Kennedy was also experienced enough to start pushing her attack as Buffy's defense faltered, without leaving herself open to the sort of last-second, desperate, 'pulled it out of my ass' counter-stroke that was Buffy's stock in trade.

No words were exchanged. No punny quips, no insults, no smart-assed remarks. Both were too tired, both desperately gulping in huge lungfuls of air, both protecting injured ribs and almost-useless arms. Quarter was neither sought nor granted. Both knew what was happening, and both knew what was about to happen. Buffy was losing, and would soon have no choice but to attempt an enormously risky gambit in order to grab a sudden victory while she still had the energy to do so. The reason Kennedy had been maintaining the defensive tactics she had settled on, even after Buffy started showing signs of exhaustion, was because of her well-known propensity for pulling off such last-second moves. She did not intend to be just another in a long line of fools who had been caught by surprise by the legendary Slayer after victory was almost within their grasp.

It was almost as if they were reading each other's mind. In terms of the strategy of the fight, they were. What mattered was the _tactics_ Buffy intended to employ when she finally made her move, and this Kennedy did _not_ know. Which was why Kennedy was only pushing so hard, while being very careful to never leave herself vulnerable to a sudden shift in tactics. What Buffy could only hope, however, was that her opponent was not prepared for the radical nature of the shift in styles she intended.

Like Giles, Bra'tac had trained her in the fighting techniques his people had evolved over the ages, stratagems and dexterous physical moves which had been coolly dissected by the Masters, refined and tested by their most brilliant protégés. An old man like Jack O'Neill could not have performed even one such move on his best day. Buffy had seen Jack fight, laughed at him for being dropped by one punch from Teal'c during a boxing match, insulted him for being pinned almost instantly by Fenton in a wrestling match. She'd teased him about it, because she hadn't expected anything else. He was _old_! Only when he had left the room had Fenton casually mentioned that in the real world, the only fighter he'd ever met –including her—who truly scared him was Jack O'Neill.

O'Neill fought _dirty_.

Not just 'dirty' as in 'not following the rules,' or 'pulling hair.' O'Neill quite simply did not even believe in the basic concept of a 'fair' fight. If his opponent had a knife, he wanted a gun. They had a bomb, he wanted a nuke. If it came down to hand-to-hand, _nothing_ was off-limits. The problem with fighting techniques refined by experts was that they were intended to be 'honorable,' to prove the fighters' worth via superiority in combat. Jack didn't give a damn about 'honor' or 'superiority' or any of that other 'image' crap. If he was pushed into a fight, then only one of them would be walking away from it afterwards. O'Neill was adamantly determined that it would be _him_. No matter what he had to do in order to ensure that it was him.

It didn't happen often. O'Neill believed in strength through firepower, so was rarely caught without a weapon. It was just Buffy's luck that she had been a witness to it on one of the extremely rare occasions when Jack had been forced to use his hands. She'd almost thrown up afterwards. It wasn't like two great jungle beasts doing battle, or honorable Japanese samurai settling their dispute the old-fashioned way. The closest comparison she could come up with was the insect world, where ambush predators did inhumanly disgusting things to their prey. She'd never forgotten what she'd seen that day. Jack O'Neill was far closer to being a praying mantis than he was to being a civilized human being.

The slayer, in many ways, was the exact opposite. In her world, she maintained order by earning the _respect_ of her opponents, her abilities carefully calibrated to lend her an aura of fearful awe. All of her training, all of her mental focus, was directed towards maintaining that aura among those inhuman monsters subject to her law. Oh, naturally she was prepared to do what was necessary, such as the occasionally eye gouge or boot to the crotch. But those were the exception, not the norm.

O'Neill _started_ with a kick to his opponents balls. And after that, he got downright _nasty_.

What Buffy intended was something similar, and was only possible at all because not only had her opponent been trained the same way she had been, but she was one of the few opponents Buffy had ever faced who was almost the same size as she was. Normally she faced enemies much larger than herself, so had good reason to use her skills to keep them away from her, knowing that even her slayer strength might not be enough to defeat an opponent who pinned her down. This was most definitely not the case for Kennedy.

They were watching each other's eyes, both experts in their chosen-for-them field, both knowing what was happening, both psyching themselves for it. Buffy could see Kennedy's pretty brown eyes expand, her lips almost curve into a small smile as they both realized it was about to happen. At first, Buffy gave her what she was fairly certain Kennedy expected, jumping forward, a few quick thrusts –all easily defended—and then, instead of the leg sweep Kennedy was expecting, defended against Kenn's defensive move and leapt forward, wrapping the girl in the exact same grappling hold so many of her enemies had tried to use against her.

There were, of course, techniques to break such holds, and Kennedy knew them all. The most effective was the head-butt, which Kennedy proceeded to deliver right on cue. Knowing what was coming, Buffy was already moving her head aside, thrusting forward in a way that had Kennedy momentarily thinking the girl was going to _kiss_ her, when instead, her mouth opened, and she bit down on Kennedy's surgically-sculpted nose.

Bit _hard_. Instinctively snapping her head back, Kennedy screamed as a big chunk of her nose was ripped off, blood spurting everywhere, desperately moving backwards but unable to beat the fist already coming forward to smash her in the open wound, crushing the exposed cartilage, more blood flying, pain almost overwhelming her. It was far from a fatal wound and Kennedy just needed a second to get herself together, so fell backwards, but Buffy was already on top of her, one hand grabbing her hair, pulling hard, the other closing on her throat. Closing, clenching like a claw. Frantically pounding away at the girl on top of her, them both now on the ground with Buffy on top, her claw-like fingers digging into her throat, Kennedy tried to scream as her larynx was being ripped from her neck. Desperately trying to roll, to get some leverage, all she could do was pound her fists into the other girls face time after time, but instead of defending herself she just took it, not even trying to avoid the blows as she held on, a horrible gurgling sound audible as the delicate cartilage of the larynx was crushed, even more blood suddenly spurting as she ripped into the flesh of her neck, fingers crushing and the raw hideous noise of the destroyed cartilage being ripped apart audible even over the sound of Kennedy's muted screams of agony and Buffy's screams of rage.

It took her awhile to die. She kept fighting to the end, hitting Buffy's pulverized face, trying to escape her grip, but that wasn't going to happen. Buffy had her locked into what was quite literally a 'death grip' and wasn't letting go. Until finally all movement stopped, all breathing stopped, all signs of life finally, mercifully, stopped. Only then, at long last, did she let go, fingers clenched so tightly it took considerable effort to release her grip, even more effort to roll away from the corpse.

Only then did she throw up, the dry heaves of her spasming stomach almost making her forget the agony from her broken nose, cut lips, and the swelling bruises around her eyes and face. 

----

Riley wasn't buying it. "Acathla opened a portal to Hell. The chances of that particular Hell being the same as the one the First is using is pretty much _zero_! There are about a zillion alternative dimensions, and even if they _were_ somehow the same one, Acathla didn't have enough energy to reach it, and didn't have the power to breach the seal closing it off from us even if it did! As deities go, Acathla was pretty low on the totem pole. Until Illyria turned up, only the Powers That Be had the power to do it. They _didn't_! The First made damned sure of it. They couldn't do anything without the First knowing about it, and if they'd tried something like that the First would have put a stop to it."

Which was all true, and Faith simply smiled at him, knowing how much it drove him up the wall, implying as it did that he was an idiot for not realizing the implications of his own words. Which of course was exactly the impression she was trying to give with that smile. "There's another group with the power to do it, Farm Boy."

Enjoying his look of irritated confusion, Faith waited until the clue-bat finally struck before telling everyone else what he had finally figured out. "The Powers didn't send Angel exactly where he needed to be in order to grab the First: the _Senior Partners_ did!"

Few among the SGC contingent knew who these 'Senior Partners' might be, but from the expressions of shock on the faces of Finn and his crew of locals, they weren't anyone you'd expect to be willing to lend a hand to a Champion. Riley was aghast at the very suggestion. "They're _evil_!"

"They're _lawyers_!" Faith shouted it back at him as if her words explained everything, and perhaps it did. But for those who didn't get it, she explained further. "Before he went and got his soul restored, Spike was 'evil' too, but he helped Buffy stop Acathla. I won't repeat the 'happy meals on legs' speech, because I'm sure you've all heard it before. But basically what he did back then –the very fact that it was even possible for him to do it--meant the old order was breaking down. 'Evil' beings were no longer _compelled_ to support evil; they just normally did so, because they are assholes. If it was worth their while, they _could_ do of the good. The Senior Partners knew they were fucked if the First succeeded in its plans, and convinced themselves they were allowed to do it because it was more 'evil' to betray their own leader than it was just to mess with the human masses.

"Remember, they're _lawyers_. The 'evil' part is kinda redundant. They made a deal! And Angel is the sort of angst-ridden moron who would let himself be trapped in a century-long timeloop in Hell if that's what he had to do to mess up the First's plans."

----

May, 2004

_Hamilton asks why Angel continues fighting when he's signed away his Shanshu and will thus gain nothing. Angel replies that the people who don't care about anything will never understand the people who do. Hamilton boasts that the power of the Senior Partners runs through his blood. Angel says, "Can you pick out the one word you probably shouldn't have said?" Rushing at Hamilton, Angel assumes his vampire form and draws Hamilton's power by drinking his blood, then snaps Hamilton's neck. Suddenly, the vast armies of the Senior Partners advance on the four survivors. As the demon army approaches, the group goes into battle. _

----

The Key could see the tones and discordant notes coming from all directions as the imbalanced equations spread at an ever-increasing rate. Already the situation was dire, and unless it could figure out something pretty damned quick the entire universe was fucked. For an instant it paused, the emotional intonation of the previous thought somewhat startling, until it realized that it was absorbing ever more of the life experiences of its Dawn avatar into its own mental makeup in order to address this issue with her greater experience dealing with such challenges. The Dawn component of its emerging personality understood that it needed to do more than figuratively stick its finger in the collapsing dike; it needed to figure out the pattern behind the propagation of the effect, and get ahead of it, or everything was doomed.

The music analogy was fine, but the Key needed to 'see' far more than it could using such an analog in a universe which did not possess linear dimensions. There were no lines, or planes in this universe. But until the unstable aspect of the Key started screwing things up, this space was mathematically consistent within its own unique rules. In order to figure out those rules, the Key understood that it needed to go back to first principles.

A third dimension could be interpreted as a 'fold,' like a two-dimensional piece of paper being folder over. To a two-dimensional creature, such a fold would appear to be a shortcut from one point to another in its otherwise flat world. By crossing that 'fold,' the two-dimensional creature would appear, as if by magic, in a completely different location, with no knowledge of how it got there. The propagation of the instability was doing something similar; invalid code suddenly appearing in different locations, with no obvious mechanism as to how it arrived. The Key needed to be able to see higher-dimensional 'folds' in order to locate the path of the instability and stop it.

Time was often thought of as the 'fourth' dimension. A three-dimensional object walking through time would leave a 'strobe-lit' trail as it went about its business, but at any given moment in time it would only exist in a unique position. However Buffy had showed explicitly that there were other universes where time moved along a different path, as different choices were made not only by people, but by the arbitrary possibilities of a tossed coin or the result of a quantum fluctuation. The ability to 'see' a 'fifth' dimension would show the Key all such possible outcomes in time, like a tree branching from every decision point, each choice leading to ever-diverging alternate choices.

Almost like magic, the Key's 'vision' extended as it 'viewed' the universe in its five-dimensional glory. The path of the instability was obvious. The impact of it even more so. Unfortunately a bigger problem was also observed, as the First continued to spread the rot back through time, across all possible time streams. Even a cursory examination was enough to convince the Key that the instability could no longer be stopped in the present; it was too entrenched, the collapse inevitable. Even going back in time to fix it wouldn't be enough. There were too many branches, too many sources of what it could only call 'cross pollination' as the instability spread through dimensions the Key still could not perceive. What it needed was a way to leap across all possible time-streams from a single point, rather than having to go back in time to each branching instant and repairing that stream from its beginning. This 'six-dimensional' shortcut was possible, but as the First continued to travel back in time, the number of possible branches being impacted continued to grow.

The sheer number of possible branches in time made it impossible to fix them all, and that number was growing the further back in time the First reached, continuing to contaminate the entire timeline, all the way back to the very instant of Creation. From that single point of origin an infinitely-branching structure extended, all of it now contaminated, all of it destabilizing as history itself broke down. The Key could follow the First backwards in time, but it could not prevent the breakdown as it always extended ever further back in time, always present in at least one of the infinite possible branches of history. All that the First needed to succeed was for one branch to be contaminated, and the rot would inevitably spread, the collapse resume.

The Key needed something more. It could now see all possible timelines extending from the moment of the Big Bang, but there was no reason the initial conditions at the moment of the Big Bang had to be the same. Changing those initial conditions changed all possible time-lines extending from the moment of Creation, and finally the Key saw a possibility of actually stopping the First. The First had not been able to extend itself all the way back to the very beginning in order to cover all possible futures. A fraction of a second after the Big Bang, the First was stopped cold, and now that it was 'seeing' in _seven_ dimensions the Key could see that the only way to change the outcome was to change those initial conditions.

If it wanted to stop the First the Key would have to go all the way back in time to do it. Back to the Period of Inflation, right after the Big Bang.

Back to the time of the Old Gods.


	27. Chapter 25 Part 2

Chapter 25B

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Return To Normal**

--

**Chapter Twenty Five – Part 2**

--

The situation appeared to be stabilizing. The demons and vampires had learned the hard way that it could be seriously detrimental to their continued existence to attack the SGC perimeter in front of the Portal Facility. Those troops were in turn finding it not a lot of fun to leave the safety of their defensive lines. They'd managed to get as many of the surviving girls out of the area as possible, and were only sticking around now to find out how everything turned out, and get their team out once they got into the building. O'Neill had tasked several junior officers to both secure their perimeter and ensure they could all make it back to where they had stashed the Quantum Mirror once the time came, but for the most part the serious fighting was dying down.

The relative calm meant that everyone was listening in as Faith explained to Riley what had really been happening. "The Senior Partners have spread out across dimensions. You heard they have a branch office in Pylea, right? So the thought of losing everything they'd built just to kiss the First's ass for eternity didn't exactly thrill them. Unfortunately there wasn't a helluva lot they could do about it either. The First is like a Mafia capo. It knew exactly what they had, how much it was worth, and what they could do with it.

"This was a big problem because included in the 'what they had' column was something called the Circle of the Black Thorn. This group of whack-jobs included some of the most powerful sorcerers, politicians, and industrialists on earth. The people weren't necessarily _evil_; they were simply power-mad assholes. But they'd done shit that would have gotten all of them killed a hundred times over if anyone found out about it, and you can bet your ass that the First knew every single secret, chapter and verse. If the First asked them to build something like this fine Portal Facility I see before me, you better believe they'd have been able to build it a whole lot faster than the First could if it had to do it on its own.

"Angel _had_ to take out the Circle of the Black Thorn. Buffy was already dead by then –or living in your universe, or however that worked—so the First was working on setting up Slayers Inc, because it knew the Circle would try to kill her rather than submit to blackmail. They could have done it, too. Cyrus Vail was almost as powerful as Willow, a ton more experienced, and had a shit-load more in the way of resources. Since he wasn't 'evil' he wasn't _compelled_ to support the First, and he had good reason not to. His health was failing, and I doubt if he would have been able to survive the changes the First wanted to impose.

"Backed by a thousand slayers though, the First would be able to threaten even the Circle, and they would have built the portal just to get the bitch off their backs. Instead Angel takes them down, there's chaos everywhere as everyone on the 'evil' side of the ledger starts jockeying for position to take the places of the Dearly Departed, and the First has to spend years building up the political and financial clout to get this puppy built."

Noticing the surprise on both Riley's and Jack's faces, Faith gave them a proud, somewhat smug grin. "What, you thought they just came up with this at the last second? B and A have been preparing for this for _years_, dudes! They've known that the First has been around since 1998! They had _five years_ to plan for this, and a lot of the stuff that happened back then and seemed completely isolated at the time was actually designed to set this up."

She shook her head admiringly. "Gotta give 'em props. It was pretty sweet."

--

Finally able to stand, Buffy slowly made her way over to where Willow was sitting on the flat surface of a broken chuck of concrete wall, now lying on its side. She was sitting with her back towards the fight, and Buffy strongly suspected that she hadn't once turned around to watch. Buffy could sense no magical emanations coming from her, no feelings of power, no protective wards. The witch was completely defenseless, completely vulnerable. As she approached, Buffy could see that she was no longer hiding behind the magical glamour either. The ludicrous breasts had disappeared, along with the translucent skin and lavender eyes. Instead, what was left was… Willow.

She looked tired and defeated and lost. Even with her head down and face hidden by rusty red hair, Buffy knew that she was crying silent tears, and knew why. Without saying a word, she sat down beside her friend, put her arm over her shoulder, and hugged her as tightly as her horribly bruised arm would permit.

"He's dead, Buffy. Xander's dead."

"I know." Pausing for a second, Buffy tried to think of a way to explain that wouldn't make it any worse. She couldn't really come up with anything. Bottom line, their friend was dead. That was a reality she couldn't explain away. "The missile would only fire if he… died. I'm just so glad _you_ didn't kill him. That's actually what I thought had happened when it launched. Thank god…"

She stopped there, knowing it wasn't what Willow wanted to hear, and nothing she wanted to say either.

"Why did you send _him_, Buffy? I thought it would be _you_! You never should have sent him…" The tone was accusing, more sad than angry, and Willow made no effort to use her magic or even extricate herself from Buffy's comforting embrace. This wasn't the 'Darth Willow' who had been terrifying the world for years. This was the shattered, broken remnants of Buffy's best friend.

"I didn't 'send,' him, Wil! He made a _choice_, and it was _his_ choice to make! We both know that if I'd come I would have screwed it up. I'd have said something stupid, or done something to piss you off, or… whatever. Xander knew it too. He knew he was the only one you'd listen to, the only one you could _trust_ enough to listen to, even after all this time."

"He didn't have any power! We were supposed to _take care_ of him!"

So many times, that was what they had tried to do. Xander couldn't fight demons, or do magic, and he wasn't a genius. He could provide encouragement and get the donuts, but when the fur started to fly, he had to be sent to the nursery with the other children. He hadn't actually come out and accused Buffy of treating him like a zeppo quite that explicitly, but it hadn't been far from it. He'd been right, of course. They _had_ tried to protect him. The fact that he didn't _want_ to be protected was irrelevant. He was their _friend_. Their funny, sweet, and-we-must-never-say-useless-even-though-he-is friend. Except that wasn't how Xander saw _himself_.

"I don't have any special powers now either. I was supposed to tell Xander that we could risk hundreds of teenage ex-slayers, but not _him_?! He wasn't our mascot, or our good-luck charm. He was _part of the team_, and an important part. He knew the risks, he knew that he was the best person for the job, and he _wanted_ to do it! You were his _friend_, Wil! Right to the bitter end. If he couldn't do it, then one of us was going to wind up dead, and he didn't want that on his conscience. Refusing to let him try wouldn't have just emasculated him, it would have said to him that we thought he was completely _useless_. I didn't want him to go either. I tried to talk him out of it. But it was _his_ choice, and once he made it, it wasn't my place to tell him he couldn't do it.

"He did what he set out to do. He _saved_ you, Will. I don't think Xander gave a damn about being a hero, or saving the world, or any of that 'big picture' stuff. He wanted to save _you_! He wanted to _save his friend_! He didn't do this to be a hero.

"He just was one."

They were both silent for some time, watching the distant fires burning, hearing the occasional shout of defiance or pain. Neither moved, Willow resting her head on Buffy's slight shoulder, their arms around each other offering what little comfort they could given the scale or their loss. After some time had passed, Buffy sighed, and returned them to face a reality neither wanted to intrude. "Wanna go watch the end of the universe?"

Willow chuckled, a coughing, aching sound, but the sort of gallows humor that all of the Scoobies had been forced to tolerate in order to keep themselves from going insane. "If it happens, it will happen so fast we'll be vaporized before the nerve impulses can reach our brain, Buffy. A hundred meters isn't going to make any difference."

"Yeah, but we have the chance for a ring-side seat to Armageddon! We _have_ to take it! It's like, the _principle_ of the thing."

Her whiny tone brought back so many memories, and Willow felt tears forming once again as she realized how much time she had wasted, how much of her life she had messed up by not only falling for the honeyed words of the First, but due to her own issues. Xander had been right to call her on them. For a man without powers or genius, he had been stronger and smarter than anyone she knew. Buffy was right. He _had_ been a hero. And she was even more right to have let him do what he felt he had to do. He was an adult, and Buffy had treated him like one. Only now that it was too late did she understand that had been the point he was trying to make when he had accused her of _not_ acting like one. Now the remainder of her life, no matter how much farther that life extended, would be so much emptier without him.

Xander, however, would have wanted a ring-side seat to Armageddon. So in his memory, Willow found the strength to get up and face the world. It took her a few seconds to notice the horrible damage to Buffy's face. She couldn't hold back a sharply inhaled breath as the shocking sight penetrated. As a slayer, Buffy had rarely suffered visible injuries, and never on this sort of scale. Lifting one hand, she gently traced her index finger over the worst of the cuts, feeling the healing power flow. Not nearly as much as there used to be –the meta-stable universe was so precariously balanced that most magics were being repressed until the new configuration was determined—but enough to take away the worst of the pain. Willow found some comfort in Buffy's sigh of relief. At least she could do something right on this horrible night.

"Thanks. Kennedy? She _really_ didn't like me. I wasn't too fond of her myself. You really don't want to see what I did to _her_."

Willow sighed, a bit regretfully but mostly simply accepting. She wouldn't even pretend to be surprised by what had happened. "She killed _Giles_! What the hell did she expect?"

With that epitaph, the two of them got to their feet, arms locked around each other's waist. As they started to walk cautiously towards the Portal Facility, Willow glanced over at her friend. "Are you supporting me, or am I supporting you?"

Buffy took a second to think about it. "Little of both I think. Little of both."

--

The journey back fourteen billion years in time was completed without conscious effort, but not without cost. The rot had spread throughout space and time, and the entire edifice was ready to collapse from the damage. Only the fact that the Key was still attempting to correct the imbalance prevented it from falling apart, and the energy cost of doing so was enormous. Even to a god. More than ninety percent of whatever it was that powered the Key was already gone, and the burden was almost more than she could bear.

'She?' For an interval of time too small to measure, the Key wondered when it had decided that she was a 'she' and not an 'it.' The Dawn part of her insisted that the question was irrelevant and the rest of the Key had to agree, as it would not be able to maintain the entire history of the entire universe in such a state for very long. It was no wonder gods rarely interfered on this sort of scale. The energy cost was quite literally crippling. Most would simply write off the experiment and start over again from scratch.

Of course, most 'gods' also weren't being egged on by an implacable harridan like the Dawn Summers avatar, who apparently hadn't gotten the word that she was an _avatar_, an animated subset of the Key. Otherwise the Key wouldn't be thinking about pausing for a salami-and-onion-chip-dip sandwich about now just to fuel up. The Key was fairly certain that would be nauseous even had it a mouth to eat it… or the materials to create it….or the stomach to puke it up with…

There was another feeling like the swat of a hand to the back of the Key's immaterial head, and she gave a pseudo-sigh and got back to business. In truth, she hadn't really been neglecting the 'business' which had brought her to this point in time and space. Emphasis on 'point.' Rather than entire multiple universes, with alternate timelines branching off in transfinite numbers, what she was looking at was… _almost_ a point. The Point of Origin. It already had dimensional structure, as Inflation had begun and was already blowing up the original seed of the Big Bang into something with a multi-dimensional volume, but it was still almost inconceivably tiny. All that was or would ever be was enclosed in a space not much larger than the eraser at the tip of a pencil. The extra-dimensional space the Key currently inhabited so that it could 'see' the inflating Cosmic Egg was much bigger, but the domain walls between the two realms would grow narrower as the Egg grew as Inflation lived up to its name.

The walls would meet at the exact instant when the Key had been unleashed in the original timeline. If the Key failed to restore that timeline, those walls would meet at the moment the meta-stable universe collapsed, and all of history would be wiped out, as if it had never been.

Even gods had to follow their own rules. At this instant in time there were two Firsts, but there was only one Key. The appearance of the second First, from the far future, was what had warned the other Old Gods that _their_ First was about to betray them. Naturally, they had fought back. Just as naturally, the First had defended itself by using the only weapon it had powerful enough to stop the other Old Gods. It was the attempt to _prevent_ itself from unleashing the Key fourteen billion years earlier which had caused the First to feel it had no choice but to use it in the first place.

The entire history of the universe was its own time loop.

--

As Buffy and Willow carefully approached the defensive position in front of the Portal Facility, they could hear Faith explaining additional details of the plan she had worked out with Angel, and then gone over with Faith and Spike the previous night. "…the best part is she figured out a way to make Plan A work after all, but wasn't _allowed_ to do it! If she'd timed it right, B coulda pushed the First into the portal without the Key, but she _couldn't_ because your asshole President ordered her _not_ to be on the team entering the Portal Facility! She asked Spike to do it, but he point-blank refused. He knew damned well she didn't _really_ want to go with such a half-assed solution. Said the sodden ponce wasn't _his_ President, and if he didn't want Buffy to do it, then Spike sure as hell wasn't going to do it for her."

Thinking that claim was a bit unlikely, since they'd never come up with a way to do it when formulating the plan in the first place –so far as he knew, anyway—O'Neill called her on it. "If we couldn't think of a way to do it before I doubt if she came up with one at the last second."

Faith glared at him with an expression of smug superiority. "Remember what you kept saying about fooling an AI? You thought the douche-bags back home were counting on Fenton to make a deal with the First. Actually, nobody _really_ expected him to do it, and they had someone else in mind for the job all along. Fenton was just a diversion. Since Buffy knew that, she could have used the _real_ spy to distract the First at just the right time." She paused, considering, before admitting that it hadn't exactly been a guaranteed slam-dunk. "Well, maybe. Possibly. But we'll never know now, because you morons wouldn't let her even try it. Serves you right, too!"

She seemed pretty pleased about it, which didn't seem overly bright to O'Neill given the consequences of failure, but he had long since adjusted to the fact that Faith found no greater pleasure than in insulting every government official she came across, except possibly insulting Riley Finn in particular. "So who was the real spy?"

"Forrest, of course. Big shock, I know."

It wasn't, except to Finn, who sputtered and went into denial mode, but put a sock in it when one of the guards warned them that someone was approaching. It was Buffy, and a young woman who looked nothing like the bosomy Barbie doll all their pictures had showed of Willow. The soldiers were openly disappointed by the change, and Faith and Riley's groups were even more openly nervous about having her around even looking like a human. As they entered the enfilade, O'Neill took one look at Buffy's battered face and spoke above the muttered comments now audible from all sides. "Feel better?"

It seemed like such a dumb thing to say that Buffy looked confused for a moment, as the soldiers opened a break in the obstacles fronting their position to let the two women enter. Finally she understood. This was a military unit, and for such people Image Was Everything. No matter how much pain she was in, macho posturing was called for. The men expected it, and although she might not lose their respect if she told the truth about how sore and exhausted and burnt out she was, such truth would not go with the sort of image O'Neill had been trying to build for her. So with a weary sigh she simply nodded. "Much."

There were assorted random chuckles, letting her know that the effort had been appreciated, even if they all knew it was complete bullshit, so Buffy quickly changed the subject. "Forrest couldn't deal with the fact that he was attracted to Riley. The very idea was so offensive to him that he was willing to risk destroying the universe rather than live with the horror of being betrayed by his own feelings."

Faith snorted in contempt, not exactly filled with sympathy. "What a douche-bag loser asshole. Why didn't he just put up a page on Facebook filled with bad poetry relating his 'unendurable pain' and other angsty shit like all the other closeted emo 'tards?"

Buffy had to nod in agreement. "Absolutely! I mean, _Jack_ gets hard every time _he_ see's Riley's tight little ass, but you don't see _him_ getting all mopey about it!"

Nodding her head in stern, contemplative agreement, Faith ignored the barely-suppressed laughter coming from all around them and studied an indignant-looking O'Neill before responding. "This is true, Oh Wise One; but Jack has also had much, much, much, _much_ more time to learn how to deal with his repressed homosexual tendencies. Four or five more decades and Forrest probably could have handled it too."

Buffy nodded her head somberly, as if rendering a profound judgment. "I concur."

Both watched O'Neill carefully, waiting for the explosion, but to their open disappointment he simply glared at them. "I hate you both. Seriously. Hate."

Unfortunately for their peculiar type of amusement, Teal'c chose that moment to interject. There had been considerable discussion as to whether the Jaffa should even be permitted to accompany the team, given that his larval Goa'uld symbiote was unquestionably an alien lifeform, which this planet had never seen. He had insisted that he accompany his team-mates, and in the end nobody was willing to deny him his place. He had found the experience… enlightening, although he tried to hide the fact that he was uncomfortable with the way Miss Faith had been staring at him like he was a tube of toothpaste she wanted to squeeze between her thighs until he exploded like a human geyser. Turning to face Buffy, he nodded at her in respectful salute. "I congratulate you on your victory over the villain who caused the death of your mentor. It will be my great pleasure to inform Master Bra'tac that your respect for him and his teachings extends to emulating his most inspiring victory, apparently in order to offer a respectful final tribute to Mr. Giles.

"In fact you may actually have _surpassed_ Master Bra'tac, which is something I never thought to witness. Unlike you, BuffySummers, _he_ felt compelled to first _cook_ the flesh of his enemies before consuming it."

While an embarrassed Buffy tried to wipe the blood from a face that was suddenly as red as an apple, there was another round of chuckles and O'Neill shot a grateful look towards his friend, who inclined his head in respectful acknowledgment. The Jaffa were no more inclined towards cannibalism than the Tau'ri… but they were also more open to using whatever means were necessary in order to defeat an opponent. He assumed that if BuffySummers had felt compelled to go to such extreme measures in order to win, it would only make her final victory that much sweeter. That being said, he knew _exactly_ what he'd just done. As the Tauri expression went, he 'had Jack's back.' His respect for BuffySummers did not mean he would refrain from replying in kind if she amused herself by mocking his teammates.

Nodding to indicate that she got the message –the teasing could only go so far before they teased back—Buffy got back to business. "The _point_ was that if we'd sat on Forrest until the last second, we could have used him to divert the First's attention during the final moment, before she could kill the Key's host. The traditional method for this sort of thing involves cutting the victims throat and tossing him or her into a sacrificial alter. However, in the case of the Key we have evidence that _any_ genetically-identifiable material would be enough to do what the First wanted it to do. In principle, all that the First needed to do was rub the host body's arm or face to pick up enough cellular traces to perform the deed. If it was in a hurry, it would know that it didn't have to do any cutting-of-throats or anything equivalently… ah… _unpleasant_.

"So by distracting the First we don't have a dead body, which is to the good since dying sucks and even though the Key would survive the experience it wouldn't enjoy it much and there'd be no body for it to come back to if it won. More importantly, blood has a power in this universe that other cells don't. I'm not sure _why_ blood works better for all the hocus-pocus mojo, but it _does_. I needed someone to distract the First, to divert its attention and force it go with a less-than-optimal solution at the very last minute. Forrest would have been perfect for this since the First trusted him, but in the end we had to settle for Spike and his innate talent for pissing people off. It helped that the First wouldn't have been too worried about doing it the other way because it knew that _any_ dead cells would be able to do what it wanted to do with them.

"I don't think it understood that blood would do it better. Blood _tells_."

--

Time never really stood still. Even in the strange space she currently inhabited, the Key could not 'stop' time, although it was presently passing at a tiny fraction of the rate it would in the 'real' universe. Miniscule though that rate was, time _was_ passing. Which meant that she had very little time to figure out what she could do to fix the problem, and then get her ass in gear and _do_ it. The problem was that she hadn't the slightest clue as to what she could do to stop what now seemed inevitable. She could not penetrate either domain wall, and was trapped between the collapsing universe she was hoping to save, and the expanding shell of the Cosmic Egg.

As the rot spread throughout all possible futures, the remaining viable timelines became fewer and fewer, and the domain walls separating her universe from the expanding Egg became narrower and narrower. The Key would itself be erased from existence when the two walls collided, and when she disappeared so would all of the timelines which were still being held in a quasi-stable state by her mere existence. The wavefront of the expanding Egg was being driven by Inflation. The collapsing wavefront behind her represented the ever-decreasing energy reserves she could call upon to maintain the existence of the previous timeline. They were approaching like the walls in a jungle trap, and Dawn figured she was supposed to do some kind of Indiana Jones impersonation to escape. Only she didn't know _how_.

Wait a minute… Dawn?! When the hell had the Key become '_Dawn_?!'

It took her only an instant to understand that 'the Key' had already used up the vast majority of its godlike power struggling to prevent the future from collapsing entirely. The Key had sacrificed everything else it had ever been in order to maintain the only part of its personality which contained an integrated identity. In effect, Dawn's personality, once the merest subset of the massive gestalt that was the Key, now was in itself _the Key_. If _Dawn_ couldn't figure it out, there wasn't enough remaining of the Key to do it. Terrified of what had suddenly dropped onto her non-existent shoulders, Dawn searched the impregnable wall of the expanding Egg, trying not to look over her non-existent shoulder at the inexorably collapsing domain wall of the universe where she was now one of only two surviving inhabitants.

There were no cracks, no seams in the impregnable wall of the expanding Egg. Inside, the Big Bang was exploding, Inflation was flooding the tiny new-born universe with unimaginable amounts of energy, and the Old Ones were at war, trying to prevent the First from doing what it no longer wanted its younger self to do. Standing before the expanding wall of the Egg like a Titan, clad in virtual armor, armed with a lance in one armored fist and a sword in the other, undiminished as Dawn was by carrying the weight of Schrödinger's Universe, was a mathematical glitch she recognized to be the First.

In the original timeline, the colliding domain walls would meet at the exact moment when the First had unleashed the Key on its rivals. This time around the First intended things to go differently. Instead, at the instant the domain walls met, this older and wiser version would combine with her 'younger' self, and transfer fourteen billion years of knowledge, including the strategy she had undoubtedly worked up to fight the remaining Old Gods another way. A fight which would occur in a universe where the Key would never have existed. Where the equations of time and space were never stabilized by the appearance of the Key. Where Inflation continued, perhaps forever.

As the walls drew ever closer, the gap between them ever narrower, Dawn could almost hear the First laughing in triumph, guarding the walls of the Cosmic Egg from the tiny, pathetic remnants of her once mighty opponent.

--

Riley still wasn't certain he bought Faith's claims, and hoped now that Buffy had arrived she could explain. "How could you and Angel have _planned_ this? Once the First took over your body it would know everything you knew. It would have taken steps to prevent anything you had planned from succeeding."

Sighing as she remembered what she had once never known, Buffy explained about the loop in time she had once shared with Angel, a 'day that never was,' when he had been restored to life by the blood of a Mohra demon. "Part of it was designed to give us a chance to plan all of this. Another part was to indirectly let the Powers That Be know what was actually happening by talking to the Oracles, who were too far down the totem pole for the First to be monitoring them 24/7. The biggest part of it was designed to cause Angel as much pain as they could. The Senior Partners were 'helping' us, but they were still assholes. Well, they were also doing it so that Angel could 'give up' his claim to the 'Shanshu' prophesy to prove his loyalty to the Circle of the Black Thorn when the time came for him to join them so that he could take them down from the inside. Since he _did_ Shanshu that day, when he gave it up to return us to the original time line so that we could stop the First he no longer was affected by the prophesy anyway. But it still must have hurt him worse than anything else they could have done.

"Once the timeloop was broken I no longer remembered it, but Angel did. When I was on the Asgard homeworld they recognized that I had a day's worth of 'virtual' memories locked away, and they recovered them for me. Since those memories only existed in an alternate timeline it took even the Asgard awhile to figure out how to access them, which is why it took me so long to get back to Earth. They were… pretty impressed with our plans, or at least the scale of our ambitions, and helped me work out the details of what we had to do to beat the First."

That explained how they could co-ordinate their _initial_ efforts, but O'Neill still wasn't clear on the details of the final showdown. "Everything came down to your _visions_ of how we could finally defeat the First. Nobody else, not even the most powerful seers, could see that sort of detail, that far into the future. You had the timing down to the _exact second_ as to when the First had to be in front of the portal. There's _no way_ you could have told Angel that years ago during this 'day that never was,' because you didn't have the vision-thing back then! So how did he know the exact time to reach out from the portal?"

Buffy blushed, and gave him an embarrassed grin. "Uh, well, about that 'vision' thing. Truth is, I _never_ had a vision of the final confrontation. The First was using all those random tactics that made it impossible for anyone to have an accurate vision. It worked just as well on me as it did on everyone else. It also made them fight really stupidly, which was all to the good, but in terms of screwing with my visions, it worked exactly as advertised."

Everyone turned to stare at her, stunned disbelief on many faces. Her 'visions' were their ace-in-the-hole, the reason they'd followed her plan… the reason they'd followed _her_! To discover they had been nothing but a lie was… upsetting. O'Neill would have used a different word, but restrained himself with the reminder that 'vision' or not, her timing _had_ been perfect. The plan had worked out exactly as advertised. "So if you didn't have a vision of it, how did you know, _to the exact second_, when Angel was going to reach out and grab the First?!"

Buffy looked a bit chagrined as she explained. "It was a _timeloop_! When Angel was returned to the original timeline, he told me that he pulled _two_ people into the portal at this end." She shrugged. "One of them just happened to be wearing a watch…"

--

Staring at the titanic mathematical simulacrum of her awesome foe, Dawn almost quailed in fear. Not only was there no way to broach the impregnable barrier of the expanding Cosmic Egg, she would be unable to even _approach_ it without being quashed under the metaphorical boot of her gigantic opponent! With the other domain wall encroaching ever closer, Dawn was effectively stymied. In the chess world, the word was _zugzwang_; a position where the next move, no matter what move was made, would inevitably lead to disaster. If she had eyes, Dawn knew she would be crying in frustration and bitter regret. She'd failed. She'd failed Buffy; she'd failed the slayers who had believed in her, she'd failed the entire human race.

Except, she reminded herself with a metaphorical slap to the face, she wouldn't 'fail' until she actually _tried_. The First _lied_. It used deception and betrayal and exploited normal human weakness. If messing with history were that easy, the First would have done it long before, when its ambitions were originally frustrated. Looking up at her towering 'mother,' Dawn gathered what remained of her courage and the Key's power, and moved forward for the final battle. The very _last_ battle.

The First laughed at her, denigrated her pathetic challenge, ridiculed her futile gesture. Dawn couldn't help but notice that what the First did _not_ do, however, was come forward to meet her. Nor did she take that one final step back, to close the miniscule fraction of a second which was all that remained of a higher-order _possibility_ of recreating the future. After coming all this way, and the Key now reduced to only a pathetic remnant of its once godlike power, why wouldn't the First take that final step?

Possibly, because it couldn't. But more likely, because it _wouldn't_!

A liar, a cheater, a deceiver… and a _coward_. As she continued to move forward, now so close that the gigantic First could easily crush her beneath its mighty boot, Dawn couldn't help but smile in relief at the look of fear and confusion on the virtual 'face' of her opponent. She wasn't squashing Dawn like a bug… because she _couldn't_! What she was seeing was nothing but a _lie_! A _fake_! The First had paid the same sort of price to its power reserves in order to reach this place as the Key had. Taking that final step would have used up its final remaining reserves of energy. A god was immortal, but that didn't mean it _couldn't_ die. Once that final gasp of remaining energy had been used up, it would be no more.

The First was _not_ prepared to pay that sort of price to win.

Giving her opponent the mathematical equivalent of an extended middle finger, Dawn turned her attention to the expanding shell of the Cosmic Egg, no longer paying the First the slightest attention. No matter what happened from then on, they would both know that Dawn was prepared to go further than the First was willing to follow. In that way, at least, she had won. Now all she needed to do was figure out how to ensure that the First didn't win the big prize anyway.

Within the expanding wall of the Egg was the universe as it had been before the Key came into existence. Runaway Inflation. Vast amounts of energy bursting forth from every point in space. _Behind_ Dawn was the encroaching wall of Quantum Instability. A superposition of two possible futures, the one destined to become 'real' to be determined by the outcome of their confrontation. One was the future Dawn remembered. The other was an alternate future the First had created, one where the Key never existed, where the equations of space and time had _not_ been stabilized by the mere existence of the Key. Both universes existed behind that wall, simultaneously, awaiting only Dawn's final move to determine their fates.

Ignoring both the First's attempts to distract her, and the inexorable narrowing of the space between the encroaching domain walls, Dawn tried to think of something, _anything_ she might do to fix things. The First had claimed to have _created_ the Key, but Dawn wasn't so sure about that. It seemed more likely that it had simply created the conditions which had made it _possible_ for the Key to exist. That appeared to be why it had come here, to this point in time. The First inside the expanding shell of the Cosmic Egg had opened an almost inconceivably tiny breach in the domain wall, which had permitted the Key to enter its universe in the original timeline. Instantly, with its mere appearance, the Key had imposed order, stopping Inflation in its tracks and leading to the universe as Dawn remembered it.

The First had come back to seal the very hole it had made on the original timeline. Since the First had made that breach in the first place it knew where it was located, and what was left of the once-mighty First had set up the mathematical equivalent of a bandage to prevent its younger self from opening the hole in the wall. With the tiny, weak, diminished First finally revealed as Dawn at last saw through the deceptive illusion, she was fairly certain she could break through the artificial barrier, given enough time to crack the codes the First had used for its creation. But it was just as obvious there wasn't enough time left for her to do so. The walls were too close, their inexorable progression counting down the time remaining for even the _possibility_ of saving the universe she remembered like the ticking of a clock, counting down the seconds until the execution of all that had once been.

--

If there were two words that soldiers did not want to hear more than '_Oh, shit_…' O'Neill couldn't think of them. The muttered expletive was just loud enough to be overheard, and his people were back in position and fully on guard almost instantly. It took a few seconds for him to see what had prompted the warning, and he had to make a deliberate effort not to repeat the curse. Now that all the girls were either evacuated or dead, the only humans remaining within the Compound grounds were the troops covering the entrance to the Portal Facility. The First's pet demons had been instructed to rampage, slaughtering every human being they came upon, and those orders were still in effect.

Vampires were smarter than demons so hung back while the bigger, stronger, and dumber demons rushed the human battle-line. The vampires were strictly hierarchal, however, so had no choice but to follow them even when the human soldiers proved they were armed to the teeth with weapons quite effective even against supernatural beings. Flames, of course. Humans had used fire to ward off demons long before they figured out it could also be used to make the carnivorous part of their diet taste better. Guns as well. A newer tool, and not as effective… at least not usually, as some of the bullets these particular guns were firing were made of materials which did far more damage to the charging demons than did conventional lead.

However there were a lot of demons, and not so many humans, so by using the bodies of their recently-departed brethren as shields, the demon forces were able to close in on the human defensive position. The flamethrowers scared them, but not as much as the First did, so they kept pushing forward, knowing that once they got inside the fortifications they would be able to make quick work of their puny human prey. Some of them were smart enough to use weapons of their own, and a rain of rubble started falling on top of the besieged soldiers.

There was a lot of rubble around the now-burning Compound. And the demons could throw extremely heavy chunks of it a long, long way.

Within the SGC enfilade, everyone was needed on the battleline, even civilians who shouldn't have been there. Nobody doubted that slayers would have been able to make short work of most of their opponents, but neither Faith nor Buffy _were_ slayers any more, and for all their experience in fighting demonic creatures neither had ever been in this sort of fight. Fortunately both remembered how to shoot, and the bad guys were close enough that precise aiming wasn't really needed. More important was the fact that they weren't given to panic. If _they_ weren't panicking in the face of a demon invasion, the soldiers wouldn't either. It was an 'image' thing. This was critical, because O'Neill was well aware that if there was a single crack in his line, they were screwed.

Although he would never say so, O'Neill was too experienced a soldier not to know they were screwed regardless. He was on the phone trying to get some mortar support from his people on the outside, but knew they couldn't risk hitting the Portal Facility. It was a strong building, but it was also their link to the Key… and Carter was one of the people inside. He called in fire support but made damned certain nothing dropped too close to the building he had hoped they would be able to enter and use as a far more defensible position. While he was at it, he hoped like hell he had enough people to keep the monsters at bay for as long as the Key would need to do its thing. But, in truth, he knew that hope was in vain. They were coming, there were a lot of them, and he just didn't have the firepower to stop that many of them.

It wasn't anyone's fault. They were slaughtering demons by the dozens, blowing them apart, frying them where they stood, zat-blasts vaporizing some more. But there were always more, and their overhead protection wasn't good enough to save a man when a hundred-pound chunk of concrete landed on top of him. The demons were quick to take advantage of the sudden opening, and some were able to close in and jump over the fortified temporary wall and get inside the perimeter. Ordinarily O'Neill wouldn't have been too worried about anyone armed only with a half-assed club, but he'd seen what a slayer could do with something similar, and these creatures were every bit as strong and fast. Nor could his defenders use their most effective weapons this close without killing each other. They were using handguns and zats, bringing down those monsters who got inside the perimeter, but not fast enough to prevent a half-dozen men being crushed or impaled by the interlopers within seconds.

Buffy was no longer a slayer, but she remembered being one, and still thought like one. She might not have even one tenth the strength she once had, but she still knew how to take care of a demon. Rolling, keeping low to stay out of the line of fire, she grasped the foot-long piece of rebar with a sharp end as tightly as she could, and used what strength she had to jam it down as hard as she possibly could into the foot of the monster. It screamed, reflexively kicking her away, only the fact that she landed in an open space and was able to continue rolling instead of crashing into a hard barrier wall keeping her from being crushed by the impact.

The demon kept screaming, more in rage than pain, and as usual with demons ignored its orders to open the way for its brethren to attack the human position in order to smash the puny insect who had dared attempt it harm. Buffy tried to crawl away, but the most recent hit, on top of all the damage Kennedy had done, left her in such pain that she could barely move, even with the motivation of an advancing, and supremely pissed-off, demon stalking her. It was about to smash her skull into paste when Faith, screaming like a banshee, cut loose with the entire clip of her MP-7 into the demon's exposed armpit. It was one of the few weak points of the armored beast, and the reinforced bullets were almost enough to blow its entire arm off at the shoulder.

Demons were strong. It came as quite a shock to the SGC troops to discover just how strong they were, and they were still adjusting to the sheer firepower that was needed to bring them down. Which was why two young civilians who knew what they were actually dealing with were able to distract a monster that all of their awesome firepower had been unable to stop. Even with its shoulder a shattered wreck of mangled meat, it was either too stupid or too tough to be concerned over the damage and instead, distracted from its mission and costing its cohorts their best chance for a quick victory, it turned to unleash its full fury on the people who had dared to harm it. Faith, gun empty, was frantically trying to get out of its range, but she was no longer a slayer and may as well have been moving in slow motion. The cement stuck to the end of the steel pole it was using as a club smashed into her torso with enough force to launch her body into the air and toss it thirty feet or more, where she crashed into the ground like a broken doll.

Buffy's scream of "_Faith_!!" was almost drowned out by the sounds of SGC troops cutting loose with everything they had, bringing the monster down, ending the immediate danger as no more demons had been able to exploit the breakthrough. It had been close, and stopping it had been expensive. Even knowing better than to allow himself to become distracted in the middle of a battle O'Neill felt old and tired and useless as he watched Buffy rush over to her friend, knowing there was nothing she could do for her, knowing exactly what she was going through as she fell down beside the fatally injured woman and tried to do something, _anything_ that might save someone who had just had the entire right side of her chest crushed. O'Neill knew that even if they'd had a full-sized trauma unit available, the damage was too severe for them to be able to save anyone from such a wound.

Moving her, even in a futile attempt to offer comfort or prevent the inevitable, wasn't a good idea, and Buffy's tears fell freely as she fell to her knees and hovered over her friend, seeing the awareness in Faith's eyes, her hands fluttering about uselessly as she tried to think of somewhere to touch, to do _something_, but knowing there was nothing she could do. She looked up at Willow, who shook her head regretfully. Even if she'd had full use of her magics, she could not have saved Faith from such catastrophic damage.

Faith tried to smile, knowing what the lack of pain meant, and met Buffy's horrified eyes. She had enough time left to remember the previous night, and what should have been a disaster. She and Spike had assumed that Buffy had been serious about the three-some, and had already started when they realized that the object of their mutual lust had brought them together for a different reason. Buffy had been willing to give it a try, but it was pretty obvious she wasn't there for the reason they thought, and despite her words she was pretty intimidated by the idea of carrying though with it. Without any need for discussion both she and Spike had pulled it back… although both had secretly wished they hadn't had to.

Instead, to their surprise they got something better. They got _trust_. After years of being the outsiders, the 'extra help' called upon when needed but otherwise ignored, they were suddenly the ultimate _insiders_. _They_ were the ones who knew the full details of Buffy's plan. _They_ were the ones charged with making it work. Afterwards, it got even better. Buffy had haltingly told Faith about her counterpart on her new world and their relationship, how it had been intended as part of her larger plan to manipulate the government into helping her… only she had been shocked to discover how much she had enjoyed herself. How much she _liked_ the younger, more innocent Faith. How freaked out she was to actually be considering exploring the relationship further, should the opportunity present itself.

For the very first time in their entire relationship, Buffy had actually asked Faith for _advice_. Faith had given the request the respect it was due, and they'd spent hours discussing it, ignoring the fact that the next day would determine the fate of the entire universe. What they were talking about was much more important. It had been one of the best nights of her entire life, and if Faith was not destined to survive the day, she was profoundly grateful that her final night had been the one night she had spent with the only person she had ever loved, just talking, occasionally laughing, making fun of Spike and just generally behaving like _friends_. It wasn't a bad way to check out, and a far better exit than Faith had ever expected. "Beats…last time… on the… balcony. My turn…to be…the…hero."

With those final words, the Dark Slayer's eyes when blank, and she was no more.

O'Neill would have loved to have been able to give Buffy the time she needed to grieve properly, but he was down six men, and the vampires were preparing to attack. He needed everyone on the battle line. Even young girls who should never have had to be in a place like this, doing something like this, and facing pain such as this. When he walked up to her she looked up at him with huge, tear-stained green eyes. "It was supposed to be _me_! I _saw_ it! It was supposed to be me…"

Tucking that one away to examine another time, O'Neill spoke softly, understanding that she wanted to be left alone but needing every trigger finger he had available. "She's dead, Buffy. What she did –what the two of you both did—bought us some time, but we're still not out of the woods yet. The vampires are massing for an attack. I need you on the line…"

"_No_!!" She was crying, and holding onto her friend, and tired and sore and bleeding and just tired of the whole damned thing. "It's _pointless! Nothing_ they do can affect the outcome anymore. Fighting and dying here doesn't make any sense! The only fight that matters is between the Key and the First, and _nothing_ that happens here will affect them at all! Continuing this is a _waste of time_!"

Scowling, O'Neill took a long hard look at the girl, reminding himself that she _was_ still a girl. Even granting that she didn't have his decades of experience, that was no excuse for stupidity. He simply could not understand how she could have fought so much, and yet learned so little about _fighting_. "The fight doesn't end when it becomes 'pointless' to continue, Buffy. It ends when one side or the other _stops fighting_! If _they_ don't, we _won't_. Not now. Not _ever_! That's what it's like for us mere mortals. You're used to the fight ending when you as the hero defeat the evil villain in single combat, and he disappears in a puff of smoke so there's no unsightly corpse to mar the vista of the rising sun telling everyone else that all that nasty fighting can end because all is right in the world once more.

"_This_ is what it's like for the rest of us, Buffy! It's bloody and it's brutal and it's ugly and it doesn't stop on cue. Good people die and cowards survive. But if it's worth doing at all, it's worth doing all the way! You _never_ give up! _Never_! Even when it's hopeless and pointless and won't matter to the 'grand scheme of things,' you keep fighting because maybe, somehow, it will make a difference somewhere. You're forced to watch your friends and colleagues die for some damned cause _someone else_ told them was so important they had to risk their lives for it, and you do it because you _believe_ them! Just like they believed _you_! _That_ is what war is like for the rest of us, kid.

"Now, take your place on the damned line. Welcome to the real world."

--

'Time' did not pass in this inexorably disappearing universe the way it did in other places. No clock could measure it. But there was more than one arrow to time. There was entropy, and quantum uncertainty. Disorder continued to increase within the armored sphere of the Cosmic Egg, and a wall representing the collapse of a quantum state was about to crash into that expanding shell. Dawn, as the Key, had been maintaining that wall of uncertainty as an unstable, unreal, but _possible_ future outcome through the expenditure of vast amounts of power, but even if more energy had been available, the wave would inevitably collapse through the sheer magnitude of its own improbability. Perhaps it was her own human imagination providing the imagery, but Dawn saw the approaching wave as a titanic tsunami, boiling and bubbling and swooshing like water released from a dam, sweeping all aside in its mad rush to the crash against the shore of the expanding Egg.

The metaphor was more appropriate than she thought. It _was_ a wave and it _was_ boiling. Only it was a wave of probability, and it was boiling with the internal dynamics as random probabilities expanded and contracted within and about the average. Spikes and funnel-shapes grew and collapsed at random locations across the surface of the wave, like the stakes in the walls of Indy's collapsing room. Only these were not 'real,' merely manifestations of the internal elements of quantum uncertainty.

Looking back towards the surface of the Egg, now much, _much_ bigger than it had been when she first saw it, Dawn could see that its surface wasn't as smooth as she had thought at first. Although the spikes and funnels were many orders of magnitude smaller than those of the approaching wall, they were just as real, and just as fleeting. She was 'seeing' quantum uncertainty, only there didn't seem to be much she could do with it. She could not even 'touch' the surface of the Egg. Whatever she was made of, it was anathema to the equations which governed the universe within the Egg, repelled by forces far more fundamental than the nuclear forces humans understood. Forces which extended only to the surface of the Egg… but no further.

Some of the spikes of quantum uncertainty extended outwards farther than that.

The problem was that spikes of quantum uncertainty were ephemeral in the most literal sense. They would appear, randomly, for the merest fraction of a second, even in this universe where time could not be measured, and disappear again almost instantly. They represented a sort of 'quantum tunnel' into the Egg, accessible only by something not only inconceivably tiny, but which just happened to be standing at the exact place such a tunnel would appear, at the exact moment it appeared there. Unfortunately their appearance was 'uncertain' in the mathematical sense. They could _not_ be predicted. If she simply picked a spot and waited, given enough time, one would _eventually_ appear. But the required time scale was many, many orders of magnitude longer than the time this universe had remaining.

Dawn could hear the First laughing, screaming in triumph, could feel the wave approaching ever closer, could feel her time running out as her final energy reserves were exhausted. Not even she, with her multi-dimensional 'seeing,' could predict _exactly_ where the necessary spike would appear, or exactly _when_ it would appear, and use it to tunnel into the Cosmic Egg. In this context, 'uncertain' meant exactly that. Even someone with 'perfect knowledge' could not predict the exact place and time that such an event would occur. That was the whole point of Quantum Mechanics, and the reason Einstein had never bought into it. If it was correct, then God not only played dice with the Universe, He sometimes hid them from view. And Quantum Mechanics had never –_ever_—been proven wrong.

Only, Dawn couldn't help but recall that Buffy had been able to predict _exactly_ where the First would be standing, months ahead of time, despite the random events surrounding the timing of their final assault on the Portal Facility. Small 'g' gods such as the First didn't believe in predestination because they could literally _see_ how random events could affect the outcome of their plans.

Yet somehow, Buffy had been able to predict an event subject to extraordinarily random external influences, to an accuracy measured in seconds.

It was mathematically impossible. And yet she had done it.

Sam Carter had claimed that the mathematics of their most advanced theories required the existence of _at least_ ten or even as many as _twenty-six_ dimensions. Which meant that even though Dawn could now see all possible spaces and all possible times, there was a lot out there that she not only _couldn't_ see, but couldn't even _comprehend_. It wasn't that she lacked the _ability_ to see those other dimensions, she lacked the _imagination_ to figure out what she should be looking _for_. What else was out there that she couldn't already see?

Was there something hidden from her view, buried under the apparent disorder of Quantum Theory? Were there rules governing even the most apparently random events? Was capital 'G' God using _loaded_ dice?! If He did, could Dawn 'see' how He was doing it, even if just this once? It didn't seem likely, except for one overwhelmingly, unambiguous truth; Buffy had done it, so it was at least _possible_.

More importantly, she _had_ to do it. The once-cavernous separation between domain walls had narrowed to a tiny, narrow gap, almost to the point where Dawn could 'feel' herself being crushed between the closing walls. Staring at the surface of the Egg, watching it flow and boil and swell, Dawn felt her vision changing, straining to see orders of existence the Key had never imagined. Struggling to find _something_, some expression of reality which would provide certainty in a universe _defined_ by its randomness.

And she found it. What she found she did not know, but knew only that it was what she sought. In one place, at one time, a wave of quantum uncertainty would pop into existence and collapse again an unimaginably tiny fraction of a second later. It would do so at the exact moment the two walls collided. There would be no second chance, could be no possible error.

The First screamed in triumph as the walls closed, now only an instant away from touching. Dawn placed her microscopic self in the appointed place, and closed her metaphorical eyes to await the appointed moment as her last reserves of energy were used up.

A tiny zone of quantum uncertainty appeared above the surface of the Egg.

The walls collided.

The Key suddenly appeared _within_ the Cosmic Egg.

Instantly, certainty was imposed. Inflation came to a sudden screeching halt. The Cosmic Egg exploded into a suddenly-stabilized universe in a titanic explosion that fourteen billion years later a race calling itself 'humanity' would call the Big Bang.

Time resumed its former path, the 'old' universe now collapsed from its meta-stable state into reality, the alternate timeline disappearing as if it had never been, since it _never had_ actually been real, the frustrated screams of rage from the First audible throughout every time, every space, every possible universe it had tried to destroy.

Not everything was the same. Nothing ever was, when repeated. Not exactly. Dawn hadn't had much opportunity to 'choose' the future she _wanted_. So she did the next best thing. She sought out the closest path to the future she _remembered_. It wasn't hard to find.

Blood called to blood. Summers blood.

Buffy was hurt. Bleeding.

But alive. And under the circumstances, that was the best Dawn could do.

--

The burst of light exploding from the Portal Facility was bright enough to turn night into day. A thick beam of pure white light, perfectly straight, brighter than the sun. It was fortunate for the humans fighting the monsters near the building that the beam had burst out in both directions just around the corner from them, or they would have been blinded or flash-fried, if not both. It was even more fortunate that beam hadn't been aimed at the sun, as it would likely have destabilized the star, causing such catastrophic consequences that the star would have fried the inner planets in its attempt to reach a new equilibrium.

It wasn't actually a 'beam' of light. It was a one-dimensional breach in the fabric of space, a crack which instantly, instantaneously, appeared throughout the length and breadth of the universe. Energy flooded in through the crack. Anything in its way was destroyed. Any stars, or black holes, or alien spacecraft caught along the multi-billion light-year length of the crack would have been instantly annihilated. Fortunately the universe was mostly made up of empty space, and there wasn't much in a five foot hole pointed in a random direction all the way to the ends of the universe. What there was, was instantly destroyed.

The incredible light show only lasted a few seconds. Long enough to vaporize a bunch of the vampires caught out in the open, long enough to blind many of the demons who had instinctively turned to look. O'Neill instantly had his people take advantage of the sudden trouble in the enemy ranks, and within seconds the SGC troops went from a desperate fight for their very survival to mopping up the remnants of their shattered opponents. With the situation in hand, he was finally able to turn to face Buffy. "I'm thinking maybe the Key just won."

The girl merely nodded. They'd just won the greatest battle ever fought, but she was too tired and sore and emotionally drained to appreciate it. Trying to perk herself up a bit with the reminder that Dawn should be –might be—back inside the building, she turned to face Willow. "Feel anything?"

The witch shook her head, her senses overloaded by the feedback from the explosion of light, her magics beginning to return, but so unsettled that she dared not call on them. Especially not for anything as foolish as cosmetic purposes. In fact, Willow was fairly certain she was done with the whole 'glamour' thing. "I'm tapped out, Buffy. We'll need to go inside to see who survived."

O'Neill had wandered off, checking out the side of the building, but wasn't so far away that he couldn't overhear. "Good thing we suddenly have this big hole in the wall we can use to get inside." The beam of energy had burned a perfectly-round five foot circle through the reinforced wall. He quickly ordered his men to grab some debris to stack so they could reach the opening, and let some armed troops go in first to ensure that it was safe. Only then did he allow additional people to enter. Some were stationed around the opening to act as snipers, taking out the remaining monsters from the protected vantage point. Others remained outside to ensure that nothing snuck up on them. A small team moved deeper into the dark building, heading towards the hideously creepy hole hanging in the air in the center of the darkened room.

The beam of light had fried a lot of the equipment. The emergency lights were on, and electrical discharges made for dancing shadows in the twisted rubble of destroyed machinery. As they closed in on the portal itself moans could be heard, survivors, but O'Neill wouldn't let anyone rush forward to help. There was no telling who they were, or whose side they'd been on, and he intended to be real careful about finding out. He figured that anything coming out of a portal that ugly was unlikely to be friendly.

Relief was felt all 'round when it turned out to be their people. The energy barrier which had confined them had also served to protect them from the sudden flash, and when the power cut out immediately afterwards they had been freed. O'Neill could only swear silently as he knelt down beside Fenton's body, joined soon afterwards by his friends' surviving men. The vampire was loose, which ordinarily would have made him nervous enough to shoot it, but the monster seemed solely concerned with helping Buffy find her sister. For some reason O'Neill had forgotten that Dawn had been part of the team, and quickly ordered a few men to help find anyone else who hadn't been accounted for.

When Illyria stood up from behind the mangled equipment that had trapped her, O'Neill swallowed on a suddenly dry throat. She looked… _bad_. Her uniform-shell-thingie looked cracked and broken, large parts of it blackened as if it were dead and rotting. Her eyes, those incredibly hypnotic blue eyes which had once looked upon the world with an expression of bored distain, were now filled with the sort of haunted horror few people would ever know. Whatever the First had done to Illyria, it had been bad enough to traumatize a god.

He was profoundly relieved when Carter suddenly appeared with some of his men, and even more profoundly relieved that her eyes didn't look the way Illyria's did. Even so he desperately wanted to go over and determine for himself if she was alright… but knew that would be an extremely unwise thing to do right about then, when he wasn't in complete control of himself and he might do something incredibly stupid. So he just met her eyes for a second, and then pulled his away forcefully when he heard Buffy shout out Dawn's name. They had lingered long enough for him to note that Carter's eyes had widened in surprise, as if she too had forgotten that the sister had accompanied her.

O'Neill made his way over towards the portal, where Buffy and Willow and some of his men were watching the vampire toss huge pieces of machinery aside as if they were made of paper. Underneath, Dawn looked to be in rough shape, but seemed to be breathing, to O'Neill's profound relief. He'd liked the Ronin leader, and losing her would have broken Buffy beyond repair. Speaking of which, he only then noticed the body of the First lying nearby, eyes wide and dead, two puncture marks visible on her neck. She was white as a sheet, obviously having been bled dry. Angel, he assumed. A vampire had to feed, after all. Especially one trapped alone in an alternate universe for the next hundred years.

With some coughing and choking, Dawn regained consciousness. Buffy was in tears as she hugged the girl tightly, and everyone else smiled, as they generally did when there was a survivor. They'd all seen enough people die today. A survivor made it all worth it. Any survivor. One who looked like Dawn… well, his troops were red blooded American boys, and that was all that needed to be said.

He looked away to spot Illyria. Still looking haunted--like the survivor of a Japanese game show, or maybe Battle Royale-- Illyria looked over at the girls as they celebrated. Her expression of profound horror seemed to ease a little, the terror fading, but never completely disappearing. When she looked over at him, she didn't seem to be dismissing him as a cockroach, like she had before. Whatever she'd gone through, it had changed her. Changed the way she looked at the world, and its inhabitants. He was no longer being dismissed as mere ambulatory muck. O'Neill realized that he'd graduated to… perhaps the equivalent of a hamster. Or perhaps a dog. A small, yippy mongrel bitch maybe.

What the hell. It was a step up.

He walked over to her, observing the way she was watching the tearful reunion going on between the girls. O'Neill didn't want to be so discourteous as to ask what had happened to put that look on her face, so struggled for a neutral topic. "Uh… you didn't blow up." Smooth, Jack. _Smooth_.

Turning to look at him with those blue-in-blue eyes, she seemed to consider responding with the sort of violence such a comment merited, but eventually decided against it. "The energy… will soon be restored. The cycle continues."

"We could, uh, reverse the reversal, I suppose. The Mutari thing is still around here. Somewhere. We could do what Angel did."

Once again, she turned to face him directly, before returning her attention to where they were trying to help Dawn get to her feet. "No. This alternative exists, but it… displeases me. What can be learned from your kind has been learned. Remaining here, trapped in this confining shell, powerless against those who once trembled before me… this is not a viable option."

"Blowing up doesn't seem like a real fun option either."

"Conditions have… changed. Minor alterations to the timeline have resulted in… an alternative becoming available. One which did not exist before this change. One which… pleases me more. It was made for my benefit. Your own as well, it is true, in that it requires that I leave this dimension, and not return. But this restriction does not offend me. The challenge more than compensates for the price."

Falling silent as the other girls approached, Illyria appeared to study Dawn, who was looking pretty bad, and who had obviously been put through the wringer, but who seemed lucid and was already relying less on the others for support as her legs got less rubbery. Despite everything, she looked less traumatized than the ancient god-king. "You look like hell."

Illyria nodded in agreement. "A lesson in power I shall not soon forget. More ever, a lesson on strategy, on arrogance, on duty… on friendship. An interesting experience. One almost worth the price paid to learn it. But the lesson is over. I find myself recalling the foolishness that was Glorificus. Despite her many faults, it was… unseemly, for a god to be betrayed by her own triumvirate. I have decided that it is incumbent upon me to teach the remaining members of this triumvirate the folly of such betrayals. Conveniently, the characteristics of the domain in which they inhabit permit me to exist there in my true form. I no longer require use of the Shell. This is especially fortunate, as energy levels have already been restored to dangerous levels. Damage to the containment vessel suggests that it will fail at even lower levels than previously. I do not wish to remain in this universe possessing even less power than such as…these. I bid you farewell."

Dawn looked up at her. "I'll miss you."

O'Neill doubted that Illyria could smile, and she didn't when she returned the look. But he got the impression that if she could have, the god-king would have been doing so. "It is traditional in your culture to offer compensation upon receipt of a lesson one values. I have nothing to offer such as you. But I can give something of value to one you… care for. In your name, I offer her a gift. The gift of a found soul." With that she raised her hands to her head and began to scream. O'Neill looked on in confusion as she seemed to twist and fade in and out of reality, almost like someone experiencing ECF, only it seemed that her body was being split in two.

Which turned out to be exactly what was happing. The blue-tinged, reptile-like appearance faded as the girl seemed to go partially transparent, splitting into something which looked far more human, and something else that… did not. The closest description O'Neill could come up with was the Flying Spaghetti Monster's uglier, meaner big sister. It was kind of a snake, or a bunch of snakes all coiled around each other, gliding with inhuman smoothness away from them. It waved a coiled 'arm,' and the hideous portal at the center of the room shifted, changed, still looking more like a wound than the calm portal of the StarGate, but different now, not quite so horrific.

The snake-demon-thing entered the portal just about the time O'Neill's ears were reminding him that the human body which had split off from it was screaming loud enough to wake the dead. Both Buffy and Dawn looked confused, but it was Willow who shouted '_Fred_!' and wrapped the obviously terrified girl in her arms. O'Neill didn't doubt that he'd be screaming blue murder if he'd had to share a body with a snake-thing even uglier than a Goa'uld, but it soon became apparent that although she had been traumatized by the experience, this 'Fred' person hadn't been driven _completely_ insane by it.

"W-w-w-Willow?" Being able to recognize someone was even more encouraging than the already-good sign that she remembered how to talk. The way she grabbed hold of the witch suggested to O'Neill that they knew each other well enough for the newcomer to see Willow as a means of salvation from what could only have been a horrific experience. This was good, because it was time for the rest of them to get out of Dodge. He would have felt lousy about leaving behind a seriously messed up mental case with no one to take care of her.

Gesturing to his crew, he tried to be as gentle as possible when he spoke up. "We have to leave here. My people will be dropping enough explosives on this building in the next few minutes to level a city. Then, we need to go home."

Naturally, it took longer than expected to get everyone out. But with Buffy supporting her sister, and Willow supporting the now-brown-eyed, thin brunette with a Texas twang who spoke a mile a minute and O'Neill couldn't tell what the hell she was saying except that she was certifiably crazy, they finally got the place evacuated. Once clear, they stopped to watch the show as the mortars did their thing. Spike promised to take care of Willow and Fred until they could get back on their feet, and good-byes were given all 'round.

As they watched the three leave, Dawn turned to look down at her young older sister. "Think they'll be okay?"

Buffy nodded. "Willow fell harder for Fred than she ever did for anyone else, including even Tara. Fred needs someone to take care of her, and Willow needs someone to take care of. And Spike? He's Spike. He'll adjust.

"C'mon. Let's go home. Mom wants to see you."


	28. Epilogue

Epilogue

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

--

**Return To Normal**

--

**Epilogue**

--

Nine months.

After all they'd been through, they only had nine months together before Dawn had to bury her sister.

Again.

Nine months after the defeat of the First, Buffy Summers died for the fourth time.

They'd chosen a spot on the outskirts of Santa Barbara for the funeral, in a location where the geography was similar to where they'd buried her the last time, in another reality. It wasn't a graveyard, but the owner had sold them the land when their mother's boyfriend had asked. The Boyfriend was a very nice, very quiet, very polite gentleman who spoke with a distinguished French accent. So far as Dawn had been able to tell, he wouldn't hurt a fly. The owner hadn't wanted to sell, but when her mom's friend had asked a second time, even more politely, he had rapidly changed his mind.

Buffy had liked the new beau, and he'd liked Buffy, even though she had teased him unmercifully, usually referring to him only as 'The Boyfriend.' Entering a relationship later in life could be difficult, but was made far easier when the adult children of one partner made it unequivocally clear they enthusiastically supported the pairing. Their mother had been given ample evidence that both her daughters thought her new man was a 'keeper.' If Dawn said this was where Buffy would want her final resting place, he intended to see to it that this was where she would rest. No matter what it took.

The funeral was private. The media were kept well back by Jaffa guards who brooked no tolerance for the slightest violation of their rules. Even the cops stood back when the alien bodyguards glared. Everyone knew that no matter what the media had been saying about Buffy Summers, the Jaffa thought she could walk on water. These men were armed to the teeth, almost livid with rage, obviously looking for a fight, and had diplomatic immunity. They were there to honor someone who had derailed the ambitions of a god. Such an achievement resonated with the Jaffa. No one would be permitted to disturb the sanctity of her funeral.

Least of all those jackals who had hounded her to her death.

--

There had been no warning. No psychic hints, no overt threats, no feelings of impending doom. Dawn had been shopping for groceries with Faith when the younger girl abruptly froze, seemed to stagger at bit, before drawing a deep breath. It took a few seconds for them both to understand what had just happened. Dawn recognized it first, but they'd been preparing Faith, just in case, and the joy of her new-found powers was quickly buried under the horror of the sudden realization of what they also meant. She and Buffy had been doing good, their relationship still tentative but more honest and real than anything Faith had ever known, and being with Buffy meant far more to her than becoming a 'hot chick with superpowers.' So as soon as she realized the full implications of suddenly being Chosen, she'd run away, ignoring Dawn's shouts, and had never returned. But it wasn't hard to follow where she'd been ever since. There was pretty much blanket media coverage of her rampage as she punished those responsible for Buffy's death.

Even though she was now the only living Watcher and would have to go through the hassle of locating the next one following Faith's inevitable demise, Dawn couldn't find it in herself to regret Faith's actions. State Security had asked her to make a public broadcast demanding that Faith had turned herself in. Not only had she point-blank refused, she'd engaged a small army of lawyers to ensure they stayed away from her and their bullshit charges of aiding and abetting. Any political damage resulting from Faith's rampage was _their_ problem. They had refused to deal with the Trust out of fear of discovering just how high up the penetration of their government went, how deep the rot extended. Now they would have no choice but to deal with the results of Faith discovering that information for them, and letting the world witness her deadly revenge.

In truth they'd all suspected that Buffy was working on borrowed time. It had been imperative that they get the new Watchers Council set up before anything happened to her, so she had resigned from the SGC shortly after returning from the mission where they had finally defeated the First. The government hadn't wanted to release Dawn until they were certain that she did not represent a threat… not to mention, both Summers' sisters suspected, in order to keep a firm leash on Buffy. Unfortunately for their plans, when an Asgard transport beam removed her from custody every time they tried to confine her, people started getting the message. She and Buffy had returned to LA to move in with their mother after a short stay with this world's versions of Willow and Tara. It had also taken Dawn some time to recover from meeting the younger, more innocent version of Xander working on their house on this world.

On top of dealing with the emotional trauma of re-introducing herself to a Xander who was nearly a decade younger than she remembered, and a mother who she remembered as having been dead for almost as long, Dawn also had to deal with the fact that the politicians and media in this reality knew about her sister and seemed to despise her. Only the fact that the Key had proven _not_ to be an instrument of God, but the creation of a demonic beast known as the First Evil, kept them from demanding her head. The government was still angry that she had exceeded her orders and almost brought about Armageddon. But with the Key no longer part of their agenda, religious extremists around the world returned their attention to slaughtering each other over their traditional reasons for strife. Buffy had shrugged it all off as politicians covering their collective asses, but seeing her sister humiliated in the media infuriated Dawn. As it had their mom.

Buffy might not have paid too much attention to what was being said about her, but she made damned sure that Dawn got the underlying message. The government wanted control of the slayer, and the Watcher's Council was going to have to figure out a way to work with them despite that, or they would find themselves crushed before they could ever start doing their job. The Asgard were not a panacea. They would help out when they could, but that would not be often enough to be able to count on them to bail the Council out every time it ran into trouble with some government agency or another. The old ways were still the best: wealth, power, and the art of the deal. It would be Dawn's responsibility to do whatever was necessary to set up the Council, and it would be unwise of her to start out by attacking everyone who insulted her sister before she had the clout to make it hurt enough for the lesson to stick.

Knowing from her own experiences with the Ronin that it was good advice, Dawn struggled to reign in her temper—silently vowing that a day would come when she would no longer have to do so—and discussed things with Buffy and their mother's boyfriend. Dawn also discovered that her talents in the stock market were just as effective in this universe as they had been back home, and it wouldn't be long before her portfolio enabled her to fund the required organization. Daniel Jackson had been a wonderful source of information and had been able to open doors to the academic community, and The Boyfriend had provided an entrée into the upper echelon of corporate society. Partly due to their efforts Dawn was well on her way to creating something built on a far superior foundation than that of the old Council when Buffy got shot and made the whole damned thing seem pointless.

--

Looking around at the funeral party, all of them standing near the memorial site as the reverend gave his benediction, all wearing muted shades of black and many looking as emotionally crushed as she felt, Dawn wondered if she had the strength to continue. Her whole life was mapped out already, with no options to follow a different path. Only without Buffy around she just couldn't find the motivation to continue. Although she would never have condoned it ahead of time, Dawn was uncomfortably aware that had Faith not reacted to the murder the way she had, there might not have been any point in continuing. Governments wanted to control the slayer, and had been molding public opinion in order to ensure they got their way. Either Buffy hadn't seen the danger, or hadn't seen any way to stop them. If nothing else, Faith's extraordinarily lethal rampage was showing the entire world what a slayer could do when pushed too far. It was very unlikely that any future group would conclude that murdering a slayer was a better option than any alternative they might have otherwise chosen.

It had come as quite a nasty surprise to those in power just how dangerous a slayer on a homicidal rampage could be. Four billionaires, three Senators, two generals, and a whole lot of collateral damage later, the survivors were collectively shitting bricks in their armored fortresses over what they had unleashed. Faith hadn't been exactly shy about the precise reason why she had gone after those she had targeted, and the sheer brutality of their invariably painful deaths had ensured there was no way it could be covered up. The Trust had enormous power and influence, but when it came to political survival, they found that those they had once held in complete control were suddenly more than willing to toss them to the wolves rather than take one for the team.

Dawn still had no idea how she'd gotten hold of Thor's Hammer. It had been confiscated by the SGC when Buffy resigned, but a few days later had showed up at their mother's house. Soon after the start of Faith's small war it had disappeared again, only to show up in her possession, several state borders away, with no indication of how it got there. It was amazing the sort of damage that little hammer could do in the hands of someone who was really, really pissed off.

There was only one politician at the funeral. A Congressman from California, accompanied by his son. Others had considered attending for political reasons, but their security details had forbidden it. Dawn had also made it abundantly clear that aside from Kessleton, they weren't welcome anyway. She couldn't prevent her father from attending, but Bra'tac had taken him aside and quietly described in precise clinical detail exactly what he would do to Hank Summers and his testicles if he attempted to disrupt the services in the slightest way. The reporters he had brought along were unceremoniously tossed out by Jaffa guards. The camera he had secreted into his pocket had been confiscated during a search more thorough than suspected drug smugglers enjoyed at the latex-glove-wearing-hands of prison nurses. He looked sulky and frustrated and nervous, the latter probably because Bra'tac was standing beside him holding a six foot tall axe and glaring at him with an expression which suggested he was looking forward to finding the slightest excuse to test it out.

Surreptitiously checking her watch, Dawn could only sigh as how slowly time seemed to be passing. It gave some indication of her state of funk that not even the watch could bring a chagrined smile to her lips, the way it had been able to the past few months. At first she'd been almost angry to discover that Buffy had lied about how she had known when to spring her trap. If was only when she reminded herself that she'd had to 'fudge' the truth a few times herself when she'd led the Ronin that Dawn could see the amusement in what had happened. Buffy's entire strategy for fighting a _god_ had been dependent on a wristwatch that cost less than a hundred dollars. She had managed to sell _everyone_ on her 'visions.' The First had fought with completely inept tactics in order to negate those mythical visions. The SGC had accepted her leadership and strategy because they trusted those visions. And Dawn herself had found a way to force the Key to 'see' a higher-order dimension simply because she 'knew' that Buffy had done so.

None of it had been true. Buffy had known the _exact_ time it would all happen because when he pulled her into the portal, Angel had seen the exact time on her watch. He'd told Buffy, and she'd adapted her entire strategy around it.

Timex would have been so proud.

But today, not even that memory could bring a smile to her face.

Although this world was more urbanized than the one back home, the area surrounding the site was agreeably free of buildings or roads. There were a few trees and plenty of brush, on a ridge overlooking a small dry valley, the afternoon sun shining brightly in a cloudless sky. The preacher's voice fit in well with the surroundings, a deep bass reminiscent of James Earl Jones without the intimidating Darth Vader undertones, easily heard over the swooshing noise of the gentle wind. He was African American, no longer young, his hair streaked with grey, his eyes almost misty with compassion and regret, his lined face showing a deep personal pain and sorrow. He had known Buffy, and his voice trembled occasionally as he described her heroic accomplishments.

Jack was also there, in his uniform, the new stars on his shoulder occasionally sparkling in the sun. Sam Carter stood near him, a deliberate separation maintained between them to ensure that everyone would knew that even though they were there together, they weren't 'together' together. Teal'c and General Hammond stood not far away, both looking stern and disciplined, standing at rigid attention, only their eyes showing the pain of losing another friend. More SGC people stood around them, most of whom Dawn didn't know and didn't have the energy to even learn their names. Only one stood out. Laura Fenton was Ash Fenton's widow. A few weeks after they'd returned to this world, Dawn and Buffy had gone to her house to offer their condolences. They'd had the privilege of meeting his son, a five year old terror who went by the name of Tyson.

Laura had looked devastated and exhausted that day, even though it had been nearly a month since she had been informed of her husband's death in the line of duty. Dawn had silently wondered if having to look after a hyperactive child had made things easier or worse for her. At least there had been something to divert her attention, as young Tyson had been quite a handful. At one point, when he was running around, carrying an open jar of juice precariously balanced in one hand, his mother had screamed "If you drop that young man, your name will be _mud_!!" Buffy had smiled in a sort of un-amused way Dawn that had noted instantly. When she asked her about it later, Buffy had claimed that several hundred years down the road, Tyson's great-great-great-whatever granddaughter would marry someone whose last name was 'Mudd.' She had looked contemplative for a few seconds before adding that with a surname like that, it was completely unfair of the parents to further burden their offspring with a first name like 'Harcourt.' It was no wonder the kid would turn out bad.

Little Tyson was either on his best behavior or had been OD'ed on Ritalin, because he was standing beside his mother, silently watching the ceremony while struggling to unobtrusively pick his nose. It was cute enough to almost bring a smile to Dawn's lips, before she suddenly remembered why they were all there, and any fleeting amusement died a quick death. She had hoped to be distracted by taking care of her devastated mother, but The Boyfriend was doing a good job of that and Dawn didn't want to interfere, knowing what this meant to their relationship. He would have backed off if Dawn had wanted it, but even if she had Dawn wouldn't have just for the pleasure of watching her father squirm as he was forced to witness his ex-wife turning to a better looking, more successful, and far more respected replacement. Joyce had barely noticed that Hank was even there, and had immediately dismissed it from her mind once she did.

He'd tried to talk to her, once. It had looked like Bra'tac might interfere when Hank made a move to approach her. Before he took more than a few steps, they had both suddenly noticed the man standing beside her, his hitherto polite, gentle, kindly face looking at Hank with an expression that had even Bra'tac consider taking a nervous step backwards. The Jaffa Master had been quite happily telling everyone who would afterwards listen that the slayer's mother had obviously learned from her earlier mistake and chosen a far superior specimen the second time around. Hank had been humiliated, and offended, and otherwise ignored at an event where he, as the 'grieving' father, felt that he should have been the center of attention. Amazingly, very few people at the ceremony felt sorry for him.

Not all of the people attending were SGC personnel. Tara and Willow stood together, both unable to hold back their grief. The young local version of Xander, who still made Dawn wistful over what she had lost, stood behind them, supportive and looking far more mature than he had only weeks earlier. The local version of Rupert Giles, representing the British government, who had been somewhat surprised to be called out of the blue at his office in the British Museum several months before by the famous inter-dimensional refugee Dawn Summers to work with her on a special project. Aside from them, however, most of the mourners worked at the SGC.

It was still in business. The President had promised to give up the StarGate once there was a binding international treaty in place, but the UN had barely started negotiations. Even preliminary discussions had been so acrimonious that O'Neill had quietly been informed that it was likely to be years before they had to give up the 'Gate. It meant they had plenty of time to get the X-30x program in development before they would be forced to work exclusively with starships. Even so, the President was being excoriated in the media for agreeing to give up the 'Gate in the first place. He was already fighting for his political life, and having a slayer on the loose, hell-bent on a vengeful rampage which was taking out some of the most powerful people in the country was not helping. Unfortunately for him, all of Buffy's friends thought he'd given her the shaft and were in no mood to bail him out.

--

The Boyfriend had sprung for the funeral expenses, which was why the memorial was something far more elaborate than anything Dawn could have afforded. There would be a marker, but no grave. They knew that magic didn't work in this universe, but after her previous experience Buffy had issues with being reanimated. She had written an iron-clad Will giving explicit instructions that her remains were to be cremated. Dawn found it difficult to look at an urn filled with grey ashes as something connected to her sister. As she helped her mother lift the urn, slowly pouring out the contents to release the dusty particles into the wind, she tried to find a connection, any psychic link, but there wasn't one. Only the breeze, and the sun, and the endless sky. If Buffy was there in spirit, she wasn't making any effort to communicate that fact.

Afterwards there were condolences, meeting people she didn't want to talk to, listening to platitudes she didn't want to hear. Buffy had been more than her sister. Dawn had quite literally been _made_ from Buffy, and losing her was roughly equivalent to the feeling of some demonic being reach in and pull her beating heart right out from her chest. It _hurt_, and it sucked, and it seemed that nothing would ever be good again. She wanted to scream at these idiots that her sister wasn't in 'a better place,' and who gave a rat's ass if she had been such a goddamn hero when she was fucking _dead_!

But it would have embarrassed her mom, so she simply smiled tremulously and nodded, like you were supposed to do at times like this.

But it was really _hard_, because with the end of the funeral there was nothing left to do, and suddenly it was all too fucking _real_. All that was left was to get on with a life where she was a stranger in an entirely new _universe_, where her mom was alive and wonderful but knew she wasn't _really_ her daughter –although her _real_ mom had known that too—and even if she was _treating_ her like a real daughter she had a new love and a new life to enjoy, and the last thing she needed was her alternate-universe-not-real-sort-of daughter getting in the way. Granted that she had a lot to do, a lot of stuff Buffy was _counting_ on her to do, but right about then it all seemed so damn pointless.

She was the damned _Key_ –although she didn't remember a whole lot about it—so she was effectively immortal. She wasn't like Buffy. Her _body_ could die, but the Key would remember everything, create a new avatar, and it would all start over again. Would the new avatar remember Buffy? Would it be a new version of Dawn, or would the Key start over, with a new identity, a new body, a new life, when this avatar was through?

Dawn had given a lot of thought to the matter of her 'soul.' If she was immortal, did she have a soul? Would she go to heaven? If the Key recreated her as someone who had no idea as to her actual identity, would they _share_ a soul? Did she have any control over it? Did her wishes count at all?

Would she ever be with Buffy again?!

Finally all that was left was the preacher, and Daniel, who hadn't left her side. The Boyfriend had given her a glance, silently asking her if she wanted them to stay, but obviously wanting to get her mom out of the sun. Surreptitiously nodding back to him, neither of them wanting Joyce to know that they were worried about her, Dawn couldn't hold back a slight smile as she watched them leave. The Boyfriend's arm was around her back in a comforting embrace. Nothing would ever make this day 'good,' but seeing her mom in the arms of someone who so obviously cared about her made it slightly less bad.

Finally it was only the reverend, and Dawn was too physically and emotionally beat to take any more platitudes. "Thank you, Father. It was a lovely service."

He smiled gently. "I doubt if you heard a single word of it, my dear. But I thank you anyway. It's the thought that counts."

She nodded, refusing to apologize. She'd just buried her sister. She could be as bitchy as she damned well pleased. "I'm a little tired of people telling me that Buffy is 'in a better place.' I'd rather she was in _this_ place, thank you very much."

There was a bit of an uncomfortable pause while the preacher tucked his hands inside the wide sleeves of his vestments, arms crossed, watching her eyes steadily. Finally he gave a small sigh and spoke. "I'm sure you would. In truth, so would I. As a man of God I'm supposed to believe that a Heavenly reward is far better than any merely human existence could possibly be, but there are times when I have, well, doubts.

"Especially in a case such as this, where I don't believe that your sister _has_ gone on to her Heavenly reward."

This time the silence was more than 'uncomfortable.' Dawn was glaring angrily at the padre, who met her eyes without fear or intimidation. "Exactly _what_ do you mean by that?" His words had infuriated her so much that her response sounded as if the words had to beat their way through clenched teeth.

The chaplain gave her a gentle smile, being very careful to maintain his non-threatening demeanor. "Your sister was a _hero_, Miss Summers. Heroes by their very nature tend to feel that it is incumbent upon them to take care of others. Your sister's friend Angel consistently chose the path of 'the greater good,' no matter what it cost him personally. You might want to consider that if Buffy was given a _choice_, say, between receiving the Heavenly reward she had more than earned, or the opportunity to do something difficult, but something _important_, something for _the greater good_, how do you think she would choose?"

Eyes almost flashing, her sudden anger pushing aside the pain and lethargy of the previous few days as her heart started pumping and her fists clenched, Dawn glared at the man, ready to become violent if she didn't get the answers she wanted. "What did you _do_?!"

"Me? I did nothing." In a surprisingly graceful gesture, he used his head to point to her left. "Take a look over there, Miss Summers."

At first she didn't see anything, and it was just as apparent that Daniel didn't either, until suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she was just barely able to make out a vague shape. Buffy. Older. Bleeding. Hands clenched, focused expression intense with barely-leashed rage. Fading in and out of sight, ghostly, never attaining anything close to corporeality.

_The First_.

The chaplain could see her eyes go wide, and knew she'd finally seen what he had been keeping an eye on the entire ceremony. "Evil never dies, Miss Summers. It can be temporarily defeated, perhaps, but like the proverbial bad penny, it always comes back. Its power has been depleted, but over time it will gradually reassume its former hideous glory. It won't forget what happened to it. It won't forget what Buffy did to it. It won't forget what you did to it.

"It won't forget what you _are_."

Both Dawn and Daniel turned to face him again, her eyes wide in surprise, his in confusion. Both ignored her companion for the moment, although Dawn knew that he would question her later. Unlike everyone else, Daniel would no longer forget who she really was. She even knew why he wouldn't. The padre… him, she could not explain. "You seem to know quite a bit more than I would have expected, Father. _Who are you_?"

He bowed his head slightly, a small smile on both his lips and visible in his eyes. "A simple man of God, Miss Summers. Nothing more. I do however tend to… _remember_ things. Very well."

"So what do you 'remember' about me? And the First."

This time he shrugged. "The First will never attack you in so direct a manner ever again. It has learned its lesson. Alas, as usual with such individuals, that doesn't mean it won't use _other_ methods to hurt you. Usually these methods involve harming your family or friends or even the friends of those you love. Even reduced to its present degraded state, it remains a _god_, and as your sister learned to her horror, even 'the Taunter' can do immense damage. It is also a defining characteristic of such beings that they tend to take such setbacks personally, and will actively seek retribution even when it serves only to distract them from their true goals. It cannot harm the Key, but it can kill _you_, if you can be made to fall prey to its blandishments, and cause emotional trauma to those who care for you.

"Unfortunately this would be true even if you left this reality for an alternate universe, or left this planet to explore alien worlds as a non-human being. Given that the Key operates on a time-frame so much slower than our own, creating an Avatar and absorbing her life experiences is its best option for personal growth. It needs someone like you, and anyone like you can only be considered a target for the First's wrath."

When he paused to look into Dawn's eyes, his expression was gentle, sympathetic. "Your sister knew this. She made her own arrangements to do something about it. There were strong hints that she would not survive the encounter with the First, or would die shortly afterwards. She made, well, essentially she made a 'deal' to be returned to the blissful state of limbo she had previously entered following her death sealing Glorificus' portal. There she could be happy. Content. At peace.

"But available to be reanimated should you need her in the future."

Dawn was horrified. "_No_! She has done _enough! _She has _paid_ enough! It _anyone_ deserves Heaven, its Buffy!"

Shrugging his shoulders, the preacher tried to make it clear that this wasn't his doing. "She was a _hero! _Nobody made this choice _for_ her. Nobody imposed this decision on her. She simply felt that her work wasn't done yet, that she might be needed again. Not today. Not tomorrow. Perhaps not for years to come. _Centuries_, even. But she felt certain that one day, _someday_, you would need her again. Emphasis on '_you_,' Dawn Summers. There is no witchcraft in this reality, no Urn of Osiris to be abused by meddling fools in order to reanimate her against her will. What there is… well, only the Key will be able to find it. Only the Key will be able to _use_ it. Until you need her, Buffy will be… resting. Content. Happy.

"But she'll also be waiting for your call."

Dawn shook her head in denial, horrified. "_Never! _She had been through _enough! More_ than enough! More than _anyone_ should have to pay. _Let her rest_!"

Once again, he simply shrugged. "Your call, Miss Summers. I promise you, no one else can or will bring her back if the Key does not. She will remain there, happy, for all eternity if need be.

"But keep in mind that your sister is a _hero_. She chose to do this because she is a hero. To heroes, even perfection can eventually become… boring. If you never bring her back, you will never give her the opportunity to decide that she has done enough, and can finally accept the reward the rest of us already know she has more than earned."

Holding tightly to Daniel's hand, Dawn could only stand there, silent, considering his words. This wasn't what she wanted for Buffy. And yet, she could now see that it was something that Buffy would want for _her_. After she'd been brought back by Willow, Buffy had been so dispirited and unhappy that she had ignored Dawn for months. She had pushed away the sister she had died to save. Buffy had never gotten over the guilt of something Dawn had long since forgiven. She had promised that she would never abandon her sister like that ever again. She'd meant it.

Even beyond death.

Except this time, they had _cremated_ her. In fact, Buffy had _insisted_ on it! Willow had reanimated her actual body; only this time there was no body to be reanimated! When she looked up at the preacher with horrified eyes he understood her concerns before she could put them into words. Removing his hands from the opposite cuffs of his vestments, he waved with an elaborate gesture towards the vista in front of them. "Your sister is _here_, in the air and the water, in the earth and in the trees. When you are ready to bring her back, she will _still_ be here. You will know how to do it when the time comes.

"It is in the blood, after all.

"As for her reasons for being cremated, they are simpler to explain. There are scientific ways to bring a body back to life, as your friend knows from his experience with the Goa'uld sarcophagus. They all tend to have adverse side effects over the long-term, and lead to interesting _moral _questions in the short term. For example, a sarcophagus _could_ have been used to heal your sister when she was shot. This was not permitted. It might be rather interesting to find out who is sufficiently important to be granted access to the device. Who chooses, and what criterion determines who is eligible to be _chosen_.

"It won't be long before that and similar questions are asked as the population at large learns more about the discoveries being made by people like your friend Dr. Jackson. Up until now the military implications have taken precedence when discussing the practical necessities of implementing StarGate-derived technologies. Soon the medical and industrial aspects will take priority during ongoing negotiations. Moral questions such as access to limited sarcophagus resources, or providing hosts for the Tok'ra will also need to be debated. Alas, I for one am not especially confident they will receive the sort of public discussion such decisions truly require."

When it appeared that both people facing him wanted to interrupt, he shook his head sternly and continued. "I should note that particular issue is one of the many reasons the remaining Elder Gods _deliberately_ provoked this crisis between the Key and the First at this point in time rather than any other time in the past few billion years." He ignored the wide-eyed expressions on the faces of his audience as they heard that news. "The Human race is at a cross-road. This is a critical moment in its evolutionary progress. Even _they_ recognize it, and accurately refer to it as the 'Singularity.' In a very short period of time, even as humans measure such matters, they will decide their racial destiny. Either they will grow, mature, and accept their responsibilities as The Fifth Race, or they will turn their back on this destiny, turn insular, and become the sort of backwards tribal cultures too many nation-states on this planet have already embraced because they were unable to adapt to the required cultural changes."

For a moment it looked like Daniel would speak, until he realized that this really wasn't intended for him, so like the chaplain he turned to face Dawn, to see what she would do. As usual with Daniel he was listening, observing, and reaching his own conclusions. He would discuss them with Dawn afterwards, but in the meantime he resolved not to interfere. This wasn't about _him_.

There was too much to consider, too much to process, so she went with the most obvious, most ego-centric question. "What do you expect _me_ to do?"

The elderly man, if he was in fact a man, responded quickly. "The Key is immortal. In the eons to come, it will witness many such moments of racial destiny unfolding. This, however, will be its _first_ such experience, and because of that unique circumstance become the standard by which all others are measured. Rightly so, in this case. The Human race has the _potential_ to cause an immense change in the political evolution of a significant section of this galaxy. If they succeed, the Goa'uld, the Ori, and even the Replicators will be defeated. The static political structure which has survived for thousands of years will be toppled, and a new, potentially far superior, development track established. Many of the worlds in this galactic neighborhood are populated by inhabitants who are biologically quite similar to humanity, since many have evolved from imported earth-based human stock. Farther out, this is not quite so true. For obvious reasons these alien races have tended to keep their heads down, but once the Goa'uld are defeated it will be up to Humanity to come up with an alternative arrangement for working with such races.

"For far too long it has been incumbent upon the Asgard to maintain a roughly stable balance of power in this corner of the universe. For thousands of years they have been ready to Ascend, but there was no one left who could do what needed to be done to save the younger races had they done so. They needed to await the coming of the Fifth Race to take up the burden for them. It won't happen right away, but _if_ Humanity _chooses_ the harder, more rewarding path, the Asgard and all traces of Ancient technology will slowly disappear. Within a few decades the StarGate system will be shut down. Borrowed Asgard technologies will cease to function. The ZPM's will fail. It will be up to Humanity and its allies to come up with technological replacements for these.

"What arrangement they come up with, and how they implement it, will be critical, and quite the lesson for an immortal being just learning the ropes, so to speak. It doesn't matter in terms of this educational purpose if they choose empire, or a loose confederation, or an even more ad-hoc arrangement of virtually independent planetary states. All will be an important lesson in sociology, and politics, and, perhaps of equal importance, on the limits of power. Your sister, your friend Willow, and even the First received very personal lessons on this particular subject. You may be about to witness it on a vastly larger scale."

He paused for a second, to see if Dawn was following. It was apparent that Jackson wanted to say something, but even more obvious he was determined not to. So the padre continued. "I think you'll find the lessons scale rather closely. Power might corrupt, but it is not inherently evil, until combined with arrogance and stupidity. The reasons for not accepting their destiny as the Fifth Race are selfish, and foolish, and ultimately counter-productive. Unfortunately you can see a similar manifestation of the same sort of situation in Africa, where tribal cultures are maintained in defiance of all logical reason. It seems blindingly obvious to us that they would be much better off were they to adapt to the new cultural reality. But it isn't so obvious to _them_. You will soon discover, however, that this is not something unique to African cultures. Far too many humans are willing to act against their own long-term interest, so long as it benefits them _personally_ to do so, even though they are condemning their children to destitution and irrelevance. Or, even worse, doing it because it costs them less than it will cost another tribal grouping they despise for whatever reason.

"One of the defining characteristics of a true 'hero' is the willingness to act for the greater good, to put aside his or her personal beliefs and prejudices, in order to act for the benefit of the community as a whole. It will be interesting to see how many 'heroes' arise in the next few years as alien technologies are assimilated, and the options debated. Will humanity consider the long-term benefits to their entire species, or selfishly demand that the majority of the benefits be enjoyed only by a selected few? Will those doing the deciding be seduced by the instant pleasures of individual rewards? Humans don't tend to do very well when challenged to think beyond their own immediate gratification, but if they seek the non-trivial benefits of leading something like an entire federation of politically aligned planets, they must break the evolutionary mold that has trapped them into tribal thinking for most of their history.

"Unfortunately, what I have so far seen of humanity has not been encouraging. Although they are undoubtedly _capable_ of greatness, all too often they settle for mediocrity rather than pay the price required to act in their own long-term interests. Short-term solutions are continuously implemented when permanent resolutions are possible, but not in the political interest of one selfish group or another. Even those actions most obviously required are deferred as long as possible, forcing someone else to pay vastly more to fix what could have been inexpensively prevented. Negotiations fail because anything less than 'complete victory' has been reinterpreted to mean 'total failure.' The art of compromise has failed under the extremist doctrine of 'victory at all costs.'

"This has been repeated, time and again throughout human history. Leaders exploiting subtle differences in order to gain ever-increasing power over their fellow men. Differences in race, or religion, or culture, or the most subtle doctrinal opinions are exploited in order to deliberately separate an identifiable enemy. Every time such measures are used it leads to failure and misery. Yet everywhere leaders use these tools time and again because followers _allow_ them to get away with doing so. The lessons of Rwanda and Zimbabwe should have been learned centuries ago during the similar experiences of medieval cultures which also permitted extremists to dictate the policies that drove them to ruin.

"I love humanity, Miss Summers. I truly do. But sometimes I despair of it."

Dawn shrugged at the speech. "Nice sentiment, but you'll find that a lot of people have their own interpretations on what is needed, what is important, and what should be done. Usually it's the people screaming the loudest demanding unity and comity and harmony and all the other lovey-dovey words that end in 'y' who turn out to be the most extreme, dictatorial elitists. How do you know if you're dealing with royalty, or just a royal pain in the ass?"

The chaplain smiled. "It's often rather difficult to decide ahead of time, I agree. In the end it comes down to _character_, I suppose. Or perhaps simply _results_. One can suppress considerable personal animosity towards a leader so long as the object of that irritation is _successful_ in his or her endeavors. It might interest you to know that all of this, everything that has happened between you and the First and this epic battle being finally fought to a conclusion was because your sister demonstrated a character so noble it surprised even the Elder Gods. None of this would have happened had she simply done the obvious, and killed you rather than risk the world just to try to save you. It was noble, and foolish, and brave, and insane, and in the end, it was _successful! _One cannot judge her for the lunacy of her decision without also noting that it _worked_!

"So really I cannot offer you a fool-proof way to judge men, or their ambitions, or their dreams. Knowing what is truly in their hearts is reserved for gods, not other men. But I _can_ tell you how Humanity as a whole will be judged. In the end, when it comes down to a _final_ decision on how successful humanity had been, that decision will be _yours_."

Eyes wide with surprise, Dawn tried to figure out where he was going with such a suggestion. "_Mine_?! Uh… go me! Why would it be _my_ decision?"

He shrugged. "Over the eons to come, the Key will use millions of avatars to keep it abreast of events transpiring among the non-Ascended races. When they die all of those millions of avatars will be combined into the gestalt of its emerging personality. But right now it is a child, with only _one_ imprinted pattern, and that pattern will determine the template for its future growth. A few thousand years from now you won't recognize it –no human mind could possibly understand what it will become by then—but the Key will still likely refer to itself as 'Dawn Summers.'

"You, as the Key, are immortal. Long after humanity had grown beyond its physical limitations, or been exterminated by a more adaptable species, you will remember humanity. Long after the last human breathes his last breath, or the final descendant of what had once been human forgets her true origins, you will remember. You are humanity's legacy. You will be the Last Human. It is your decision simply because nobody else will be around who is in any position to argue with your conclusions. Right or wrong, you get to make the final call, if only because there will be no one else around who remembers to argue either way.

"So live out your life, Dawn Summers. Any children you have will, genetically speaking, be _Buffy's_ children as well. Be happy… and be _yourself_. Do not fear taking a stand on matters you think important. On the other hand, do not throw your life away foolishly. You are establishing a template which will shape the destiny of galactic empires, and that template will be far superior should it have personal experience with love and loss, friendship and enmity, life and death. _Live_, like this was your _only_ shot at life.

"Live, because for every moment you do, humanity's legacy will be that much greater. And at the end of time, when there exists only you and the First and whoever else can adapt to such conditions, it is humanity's legacy which will determine what happens next."

--

-fin-


End file.
